Dayie was in the middle of a reverie when she heard it—the sound of chamber doors opening and closing so quietly at dawn. From the dark came a person whose blond locks were similar to hers. Everything was a blur, because she was half-conscious, exhausted, sore, and was still processing the fact that she might really die for tomorrow.
He didn't say any word. He just sauntered his way towards her and then began to do something with the shackles on her ankle. It wasn't that Dayie didn't mind; she was just too spaced out to do something.
But she was able to see his on-edge expression once again.
It was similar to that night, except now, he seemed to be more at ease—more determined. But anxious, still.
"Save Patriarge, Dayie." He said. "I know you can do it."
**
