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Chapter : 3
“Are you sure you’re the one who should be sorry?”
“Anyway, you survived, didn’t you? And I got this out of it.”
He replied glibly and pulled something from inside his coat. There was a metallic clatter.
Dangling from his index finger was an antique-looking key, beautifully crafted, its bow carved into a two-headed spider.
“I swiped it right off the table in front of their noses, and they didn’t notice thanks to you.”
“Ah—this is…”
Lauren covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
A spider—no, a spider with two heads. The same thing drawn on the postcard her father had received.
As she reached for it, almost hypnotized, the man reflexively pulled it back.
“You recognize it?”
His gaze sharpened.
Lauren shook her head quickly. Instinct told her that admitting she knew anything would bring nothing good. Best to get out before she got dragged further in.
“My mistake. Thought I did.”
He didn’t press the matter and shoved the key deep into his inner pocket. Damp silence pooled in the room.
Lauren dragged a chair from the corner and sat. She’d expected it to feel soft under the cloth cover, but it was rock-hard. A groan slipped out of her automatically.
“How long are you planning to stay here?”
He tugged the curtain aside just enough to check outside.
“We’re better off staying put until dawn.”
Lauren sighed heavily. The man rose from the bed without a word, then sat down on the floor. He gestured for her to lie down, as though offering the bed.
Too late to act gentlemanly, she thought—but she didn’t refuse, and claimed the one bed.
“I’ll pay you back properly.”
“How?”
“Well… money?”
“You owe me at least for the shoulder.”
She pulled the thin blanket up to her nose. It smelled musty, frayed threads hanging from its edges.
Her body was still taut with tension.
If he tries something crazy, will I make it out in time?
Lauren eyed the window.
“I’m not going to do anything.”
“…That’s not why I’m looking.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
Imitating her tone mockingly, the man got to his feet and set his revolver on the small two-tiered nightstand.
“Two bullets left. If you’re nervous, keep it on you.”
Lauren snatched it up without hesitation. He let out a deflated laugh. She had never shot a gun before, but the weight of the barrel in her hand steadied her nerves a little. She leaned back against the headboard.
“Mind if I keep you covered?”
“You planning to shoot if I move?”
“Hmm, something like that.”
He shrugged as if to say go ahead. Lauren aimed the unloaded gun at him, but the man only smiled calmly, not the least bothered by the barrel pointed at him.
The contrast was jarring—so different from the gambling hall where gunshots had thundered nonstop. The reality that they had escaped that chaos hit her all over again.
“At least pretend to be scared. There’s a gun in your face.”
Lauren muttered jokingly—an old habit she used to cut tension.
He gave a vague smile. It was impossible to tell if he found it truly amusing or if smiling was simply reflex. Silence settled again. Lauren still held the revolver.
Her shoulder had been slashed, but the cut wasn’t deep.
Since they’d reached the inn, the man had kept a respectable distance. If nothing else happened, she could probably get home safely.
At least, that’s what she believed.
Lauren studied him. He must have felt her stare, because his closed eyes slowly opened.
On any other day she would have grabbed him and demanded answers—why he’d done all this, what the hell had happened. But the entire night felt unreal. The man before her seemed less like a person and more like an incident—like thunder that screamed all night and vanished completely by morning.
And Lauren had no intention of ever seeing him again. If she started demanding favors, it might bind her to him, and that would be the real disaster.
She didn’t believe for a second that he intended to repay her.
Strange things are best kept at arm’s length.
Lauren reaffirmed her vow to live a quiet, ordinary life.
“Let’s talk. Anything. Better to stay awake and leave early than fall asleep here.”
It was the man who finally broke the silence. Resting his head against the wall, he looked up at Lauren sitting on the bed. The dim inn lamp cast a line of light along his nose.
Sleepiness was already dragging at her; tension unwinding only made it worse. Staying awake was indeed safer.
“What’s your name?”
Lauren asked something pointless.
“Do you need to know? We won’t meet again.”
He was the one who suggested talking. Lauren narrowed her eyes.
“Then make one up. You’re no fun.”
“High standards. You’re pickier than you look.”
His slow, emotionless voice made her feel strangely drowsy.
“Let’s see. What alias would satisfy you?”
He spread his hand and began folding his fingers one by one.
“How about James?”
“Doesn’t suit you.”
He bent another finger.
“Brian?”
“Too gentle.”
“Ryan?”
“That’s barely an effort.”
Before she knew it, all five fingers were bent. Five rejected names.
In the end, Lauren offered to think of one herself. Setting the revolver aside, she leaned forward to get a better look at his face.
At that very moment, a splinter from the headboard scraped her right palm.
“Ow!”
Lauren grimaced and checked her hand. A long, thin cut ran down her palm—not deep, but enough for blood to bead.
“You alright?”
It was strange. It was only a scratch, yet heat surged through her entire body. Something uncanny spread from the wound, as if flowing along her veins. It was a sensation she couldn’t easily describe.
“Hurts more than I thought.”
“You should’ve been careful. Antiseptic—”
He suddenly trailed off. Lauren, wiping blood from her palm, turned toward him. His eyes were wide—filled with unmistakable fear.
Wait—fear?
“…Is something wrong?”
He grabbed her wrist abruptly—so hard her body tilted toward him.
“Hey!”
It was as if he didn’t hear her sharp cry; he was frantic to inspect her wound. A curse escaped him.
“Damn. Something’s off.”
“What do you mean—?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he showed her his right hand—held up toward the ceiling. A cut had appeared there as well. The exact same cut as hers.
Her face froze.
“No way. Coincidence.”
“No. Maybe…”
He fumbled inside his coat, took out the key, and drew its pointed edge slowly across his own palm—still gripping her wrist.
What came next defied disbelief.
As a faint new cut opened on his hand, an identical mark slowly bloomed on Lauren’s—and she felt the same dull sting.
Lauren gasped and clutched the bodice of her dress.
“What is this…?”
Even a fool would know something unnatural was happening. The evidence was undeniable.
Their wounds were connected.
The man met her eyes. Gone was the casual tone from before. Something else—sharp, urgent—had taken its place.
Sensing danger, Lauren yanked her hand free and reached for the revolver.
But his large hand closed over hers the moment she touched the grip—cold fingers pressing into her skin.
He pinned the blanket with his knee, trapping her completely.
“You said you wouldn’t do anything—!”
“I’m stopping you from killing yourself. Shoot me and you’ll get the same bullet hole.”
“It could still be coincidence!”
In answer, he bit his own lip—hard enough to draw blood.
And, as if on cue, blood welled on Lauren’s own untouched lip.
Even though she hadn’t done a single thing that could injure her.
