I didn't sleep that night.
I just laid there on my thin, lumpy mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling while my brain replayed everything again and again.
Every blink showed me the man's face—eyes wide, terrified—right before the light vanished from him.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
No matter how tightly I clenched them.
I killed someone.
The words kept repeating, echoing, looping through my skull until I wanted to tear them out.
Morning came too fast.
I dragged myself out of my room feeling like a ghost wearing my skin.
Rua was sitting cross-legged on the floor, braiding strings of red yarn. She looked up as soon as she heard me.
"Rain?"
Her voice was soft, cautious.
I froze.
She stared for a second—then her expression shifted, worry flooding her eyes.
"You're pale. Did you get sick?"
I tried to laugh, but it cracked in the middle.
"Just tired."
"No," she whispered, standing up. "Something happened."
I didn't say anything.
I didn't have the words.
Rua stepped closer and touched my wrist gently. The warmth of her fingers almost made me flinch.
"You can tell me when you're ready," she murmured. "I'll listen."
I swallowed, nodded once, and walked past her.
My throat felt tight the whole time.
She didn't follow.
But I could feel her eyes on my back the entire way out.
A couple hours later, Flin cornered me behind the orphanage.
"You look like crap," he announced.
I rubbed my face. "Good morning to you too."
"I heard there was a fight at the Red Lantern House last night," he said, squinting at me. "A nasty one."
My stomach twisted and turned in all sorts of directions. I wanted to throw up right then.
Flin's usual grin faded.
"Rain… did you… hurt someone?"
I stared at the dirt beneath our feet.
"…yes."
For a second, he just blinked.
Not scared.
Not disgusted.
Just surprised.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head.
He didn't push. Didn't ask for details. Didn't pry.
Instead, he bumped his shoulder against mine.
"Come steal breakfast with me before the old hag wakes up."
For the first time since the fight… I almost smiled.
Almost.
By midday, the entire slum seemed to know.
I didn't even make it ten steps outside before whispers followed me like shadows.
"That's the kid who took out three Red Tides."
"A brat like that? No way."
"I heard he tore a man's throat out with his bare hands."
"It was a wooden sword, idiot."
"No—you should've seen him. He moved like a possessed knight."
I wanted to disappear.
People stared as I passed by—some with awe, some with fear, some like they were doing the math on how to use me.
They didn't know anything.
They didn't know how my hands had trembled.
How close I came to breaking.
How sick I felt afterward.
I didn't feel powerful.
I just felt sick.
But I kept walking.
Because I needed money.
Because I needed a sword.
Because life didn't give me any breaks.
That night, I heard that one of the members survived—barely—and limped back to his crew.
Word spread fast as lightning.
Lord Karthos.
A man whose name alone made the slums shiver.
I imagined the scene all too easily:
The man was trembling.
The leader in charge leaning forward.
The question leaving his mouth like a threat:
"What brat killed my men?"
And then the answer:
"Rain."
Just hearing my name in my own head made my skin crawl.
And it didn't take long for the rest to reach me:
The Red Tides put a bounty on me.
Alive preferred.
When I walked into the Red Lantern House for work, everything felt different.
The halls were too quiet.
The workers whispered nervously.
Doors had new planks nailed across them.
Serrated knives were tucked under counters.
Miss Heinal grabbed my arm before I even reached the back rooms.
"You shouldn't be here tonight," she said sharply. "You're a target now."
"I'm not hiding," I muttered.
"You think that's bravery?" She glared. "The Red Tides will be back. Men like that don't forgive. They don't forget."
"I need the money."
She looked at me for a long moment, frustration and worry mixing in her eyes.
"…Fine. But stay close. No wandering off."
I nodded.
Even though every part of me felt like it was wound tight enough to snap.
Every door creak made my muscles clench.
Every drunken laugh sounded like a threat.
Every shadow looked like a knife waiting for my ribs.
Later that night, I overheard two men talking at a table:
"Did you hear? The 'Storm Rat' killed a Red Tide last night."
"Storm Rat? That's his nickname?"
"Yeah. Saw him myself—looks harmless, but blink once and he'll cut your throat."
Storm Rat.
A joke.
An insult.
A warning.
Maybe all three.
As I walked past them with a tray, they looked at me—one with fear, one with something like admiration.
I kept my head down, heart pounding.
Rua's worried eyes flashed in my mind.
Flin's quiet voice echoed.
Miss Heinal's hands trembled when she cleaned up the blood earlier.
What am I becoming?