- Kyle Valtier's POV -
Her hair was black—jet black—short and messy like a crow's nest that had never known a comb or warm water.
It fluttered randomly over her forehead, which was smeared with mud.
As for her eyes… my God, those eyes.
They were black, very wide, staring directly into my face from below.
Despite the tears filling them, and despite the pain making her body tremble… they were not the eyes of a child.
They carried not a single trace of childish innocence, nor even a flicker of the panicked fear of novice thieves who cry when caught red-handed and beg for mercy.
After her first scream, she did not cry out loud.
She did not continue sobbing or plead for mercy, nor did she even try to pull her hand free from my grip, because she instinctively understood that any movement would result in her entire arm being broken.
