As usual, it was a quiet night inside the tavern. The small flame in the lanterns flickered in opposite directions, changing the shadows and bringing some life into this deserted place. However, saying this place was deserted was like seeing an owl flying by during the day. It was strange, but not enough to question. Besides, I would always come in an hour before midnight, so seeing anyone but the bartender was odd in itself.

Like always, I sat down on the far edge of the crescent table around the back end of the tavern, ordering the same soup I’d been ordering for the past six months. Something about those softly boiled vegetables and thin slices of meat just tempted my tongue in ways I couldn’t imagine, and it would always come out piping hot, just the way I liked it. The bartender called it Fo, but to me it was just another name for delicious.

The smell of Fo filled my nose as the bartender set a bowlful in front of me. Fresh scents of salted seasonings inside a piping hot bowl would always win me over. My stomach rumbled and groaned at the thought of the warm meal in front of me.

To others, it was nothing more than a bowl of steamed vegetables and boiled meat. To me, it was the fountain of youth. The wooden stool gave a slight squeak as I adjusted myself, the screws holding the poor thing together felt as if they were on their deathbeds. Dropping my leather travel sack, I began to enjoy my night, and my meal. In a calm and silent manner, I filled my lungs with the soft steam coming from the soup. Using that same breath, I blew against the remaining steam, cooling, waiting, relaxing. Lowering my gaze, I tugged at my hood, allowing more darkness to engulf my battered face.

While I was patiently waiting for the soup to cool a bit further, the bartender approached me from the other end of the bar. She was polishing a glass with a linen white cloth, her short, yet powerful stature practically begging for me to ask her something. Her dirty-blonde hair rested gently on her ears like a thunderous waterfall rolling off a cliff. Her lips were red, but not the type women use to impress with lipstick. It was natural, almost as if she was just drinking blood from a heart or sucking on a ripe cherry. Her face was young, soft and sharp; cared for. Perhaps she had drunk from a fountain of youth, or the Fo; there would be no way of knowing.

In this small town of Worcester, she stood out from all the regulars I saw on the empty streets. There were plenty of reasons why, but her eyes were always the first feature I noticed, no matter how far away or how ghastly distorted my sight was. Her left eye was blue, the type you see on a cloudless sky on a warm summer’s day. While her right, pitch black, like an empty abyss in the middle of space. It was fascinating.

“So,” she said. “Rough day, huh?” Her voice always calmed me. There was something about it I couldn't really put any words to, but it was soothing.

I didn’t answer. She always said the same three words, and I always stayed quiet. I could tell she was just bored from not having anyone to talk to, but spending her precious time talking to me wasn’t going to make her night any better.

There were a few others in the tavern—mainly older gentlemen and townsfolk—scolding each other, telling stories, and laughing in their own private booths. Some just came for a late-night drink to forget about the mistakes they’d made. Some were kicked out for being too drunk. Some, like me, just wanted a roof over their heads when they ate.

Sometimes, I’d get lucky if there wasn’t a single soul in the tavern except me and her. She would get so bored and, without any other mindless distractions, just talk about her day while I listened and ate my fabulous soup. I would never respond to anything she asked me, nor would I look like I was paying any attention to her stories. All I would say was, “Thank you, Rina,” and then I would go up to my room, sleep for a solid three, maybe five hours if I was lucky, leave at the break of dawn, and repeat the process the following evening.

This cycle continued every day; where I left early in the morning, came back an hour before midnight, and ordered the same soup. “Hello. Fo please,” I would say, and wait for my order. She would bring it out. I’d eat it, passively listening to her ramble on about her day. I’d say my thanks, and leave for my room upstairs.

However, this night was different than the usual ones I was accustomed to. She looked more serious, more stern, more attentive to me. She leaned in close, too close. And not to start another story that I’d forget the second I left. No, this was a different matter.

“What’s your name?” she asked, almost making me spit my soup out at how dumb a question that was. Well, it wasn’t that it was a dumb question, but rather how many times she’d ask me that, and how many times I never answered it.

She set the glass down, grabbing another and continuing her end-of-night cleaning. “After half a year, you’re still not going to tell me your name?” She chuckled to herself, then thought of another clever way to make me talk.

“How about this?” She crossed her hands as if she’d come up with the most brilliant plan of all. “You tell me your name, and the next month’s worth of Fo is free.”

Finally, an offer to catch my attention. Fo wasn’t expensive, and money was of no problem thanks to my companion outside, but it was still intriguing to see her try this hard just for my name. Nevertheless, I stayed silent, enjoying my soup and ignoring her.

“One day… One day I’ll break you. Right when you least expect it!” She laughed to herself again. It was a cute laugh, one that’d probably have no trouble pulling any man out of his shoes.

Normally, I would never look up from the edges of the table, but something about her laugh just made me want to see her smile. I wanted to know if it was happiness, or a meaningless giggle. I knew her laugh; I’d known it for six months. This laugh, in particular, was different.

I made a motion as if I was taking another spoonful of vegetables and used that excuse for a quick glance above me. That’s when I realized—I had made a crucial mistake.

Her eyes were directly on mine. I knew she couldn't see my face due to the shadows, but I knew our eyes were locked directly onto each other. I could feel it. Not from the glance, but from her expression twisting into a merciful pit of despair. Her smile vanished, and sorrow replaced it immediately. My eyes had shown her more than she could handle. My eyes were like an open book, without a cover to judge the writing on the pages.

I took one more gulp of the soup, got up, and grabbed my travel sack. I was quite proud of myself for staying in the same place for as long as six months. It was a personal record. Worcester was the perfect hideout, and this tavern was a perfect place for someone like me. But my nights with Rina and this tavern had come to an unexpected end, and after sunrise, I would find a new place to hide in. “Thank you, Rina,” I said, beginning to ascend the creaky stairs leading to the bedrooms.

However, a disturbing noise caught my attention. It came from the front entrance of the tavern and, as I looked over, a man with a large sharpened axe came barging in.

He wore a red bandana, which seemed to provide no support for his already long, greasy hair. His face was still young, but his facial hair made him seem a few years older. He was also terrifically built for his size, wearing clothes that seemed far too large for his body. He didn’t seem bothered or restricted by it, so it didn’t really spark any interest in me. The only thing that caught my attention was his eyes and what they were searching for. This man’s eyes were ready to kill.

“There yu are, lil’ girl!” The man growled towards Rina, approaching at a faster pace than before. “Yer debt is due today!” He flipped the axe in his hand a few times, notifying both of us that he knew how to use it.

I jerked my head at Rina, seeing her face being contorted more and more into hopelessness. She seemed worried, afraid, broken, lost. “H-hey! Oscar!” she said awkwardly, stuttering with a fistful of nerves.

The man named Oscar stopped by the table, tugging her by the straps around her shoulders and, pulling her towards him, raising the axe in the air. It towered over her like a mountain, the blade of the head glimmering in the ever-changing lanterns beside him.

“Your time is up, sweetcheeks, yur pay is due!” he shouted, his grip on the axe even tighter than his mischievous smirk.

“Wait! Please!” She desperately tried to cling on to whatever time she had left. “I just need one more day! Please!” Her cheeks flushed as she begged for her life, and even I could hear her heart pounding with fear.

The drunken folks sitting on the edges of the bar stumbled out of the tavern, some screaming, some just way too drunk to deal with any of this. Rina punched Oscar’s jaw and chest countless times, doing anything she can to break free. Nothing seemed to work and, standing tall and mighty, Oscar almost laughed at her pathetic attempts of escape.

I usually don’t get involved in other people’s affairs and conflicts, but for some reason, my legs weren’t moving away from the scene. In the previous six months I’d stayed here, there were many men who came barging in during the late hours of the night. None of them were ever for Rina, but many fights had been settled in this tavern without any interruptions from me or her. I’d even got knocked over a few times, and all I did was get back up and continue eating my meal.

This man, Oscar, was a man I’d never seen before. It’s safe to say I was only there for a small period of the day, but she’d never talked about him before. She’d never mentioned money problems, any signs of danger, or any concerns for her safety.

Oscar was a man I couldn't read so easily, especially having seen him for such a minimal amount of time; I couldn’t tell what his true intentions were. Only one thing was certain, and I was sure of it. This man was not afraid of spilling blood.

I can spot a fake from a mile away. It’s all in the motion and intention from the swing of a weapon. The eyes follow their target, and they show me the true story of what they're seeing.

“Sorry princess, yur time is over!” he yelled, swinging the axe directly at her.

He wasn’t lying either. The axe was in direct motion to kill, and there was no way for him to stop it. My knuckles tightened instinctively and, partially frozen, I couldn’t help it. Given what I’d been through, I couldn’t bear to see the sight of blood on my hands again.

Just as his arm plunged down from the summit, I shifted my ankle and lunged forward, grabbed the handle, and put a direct stop to the motion of the swing. The axe head didn’t even reach halfway to her, and that’s when I realized I should have just kept to myself. I should have gone upstairs, and never intervened in any affairs that weren’t mine.

Oscar was smiling, and Rina exhaled a breath of relief. The axe fell to the floor with a loud thud, and Oscar started laughing hysterically. “Man, you caught him good I tell ya!”

For a moment, my mind raced for answers. Questions scrambled through my head until the answer found its way to the finish line; This had been her plan from the start. It was a test. A test to see what I’d do. A test to see my actions. A test to reveal my identity.

It just didn’t make any sense. I was sure the axe would kill her. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind there was full intention to kill. I took a step back, as did Rina. She picked up a small knife from the table and ran it through her hand, not a single glint of worry in her smile.

As the blade slid across her palm, it passed through like nothing, almost like her entire arm was just made of freely flowing water. That’s all the explanation I needed; she was a Gifted. And unbelievably good at hiding it.

The Gifted... those born with innate, inhuman abilities. Abilities that made them perform unbelievable feats of strength whenever they desired. However, the cost of doing so relied on the type of gift, and the exchange it needed to be performed.

Gifted folk always fascinated me, yet I never got too close to them, I never allowed myself to. Those with power are hard to trust, and trust is like a piece of paper nowadays; once it’s ripped, it’s almost impossible to restore.

For most, if you were born with a gift, you needed to know how to control it. But that was the most difficult task of all. Because not all gifts can be controlled.

I looked over at Rina, and she gave me the most seductive grin I’d ever seen. “Who are you?” she asked. “Truly this time.”