They were running, and just as they reached the edge of the forest, Evandro stopped abruptly, still gasping for air.
"We need food! We left the bags behind, remember?"
Evandro gave a half-smile.
"No…"
He opened his mouth, paused for a few seconds, then simply said, "Wait here. I'll be right back…"
A few minutes later, Evandro returned—panting, with a strangely blank, almost somber look beneath the mask of blood on his face.
He carried a sack made from brown leaves native to the distant lands across the sea; a material that had become rare ever since diplomatic ties were severed under the Tarquinus government.
Before Alexander could even comment on the smell—worse than what already clung to their bodies—Evandro changed the subject.
"It's bread… Put it in your bag."
His voice had taken on a morbid, almost hollow tone—less murderous.
It was as if he had just come from a funeral.
And in part, he had.
The only source of bread was Mr. Demas—dear to Evandro.
He was found dead there. The corpse had been rotting inside for days.
Evandro simply handed over the sack with a cold expression on his face and picked up his bag from the ground.
Alexander frowned, confused, but decided not to ask.
It didn't seem like the right moment for any kind of question.