Azareth

It's so cold it should be illegal. You pull up the hood of your sweatshirt, but the material is practically threadbare, and it doesn't do much good. You hate being out here, playing lookout, but your brother has the worse end of this job, so you try not to complain. You bite back a shiver and suck more tightly into the shadows. You found an old tire iron near the curb earlier, and you twist your fingers against the rusted metal for a small feeling of safety. A glance at the timer on your brothers phone tell you he has another twelve minutes. You're not worried yet. Rust flakes under my fingertips as you twist the ice-cold tire iron in your hand. Sunrise is not far off and it's getting darker minute by minute. A light feminine laugh carries in the air nearly, and you peek from the doorway. Two people stand alone by the corner, just at the edge of the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. The girl's hair swings with her as she staggers a little. The bars all closed at three a.m., but clearly she didn't stop. Her micro-mini skirt and open denied jacket make your sweatshirt feel like a parka. The man is more suitably dressed, in dark clothes, with a long coat. The guy turns his head. You duck back into the doorway. Her laughter rings trough the street again. The laughter cuts short with a gasp. Like someone yanked a plug. You hold your breath. The silence is sudden and absolute. You can't risk looking. You can't risk not looking. Your brother will be pissed. You peek out around the edge of the doorway. The blonde has collapsed in the man's arms like a marionette, her head flopped to the side. His arm is hooked under her knees, and he keeps glancing up and down the street. You keep staring at the waving blond hair, at the limp arm dragging the ground. He could be a trafficker. She could be dead--or close. You can't do nothing. You rush forward and raised the bar. He turns at the last second, which probably saves his life. The bar comes down across his shoulders instead of his head. He grunts and stumbles forward. The girl goes sprawling onto the pavement. You raise the bar to hit him again, but the man retaliates faster than what you're ready for. He blocks your swing and drives his elbow into your chest, hooking your ankle with his own. You're falling before you realize it. Your body slams into the concrete. He's suddenly right there, almost on top of you. You start swinging. He seizes your wrists, then smacks your arm down to the pavement. His free arm pins your chest. It hurts. A lot. "Release the weapon." He's got an accent, but you can't place it. And know that his face is on top of yours, you realize he's young. Maybe early to mid-twenties. You clench your fingers even tighter around the bar. You beat at him with your free hand, but you might as well be striking a statue. He tightens his hold on your wrist until you genuinely think the bones are rubbing together. A whimper escapes your throat, but you grit your teeth and hold on. "Release it," he says again, his tone thickening with anger. "Someone help me!" You scream and try to claw at his eyes, but the man's grip tightens in response. Blood blossoms under your nails, and his eyes turn murderous. His free hand lifts and you brace for the impact. His hand never strikes. Instead, the sky disappears altogether.

When you next open your eyes, you're in a room that looks like it belongs to someone royal. You don't have time to focus on the beautiful decoration as the man is still on top of you, now pinning you to the floor. "Commander! Release her." A man's voice commands. You twist your head just to find a man staring at you. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Sharp features and blue eyes. The commander let's go of you and you stand up quickly. You raise the rusted bar, but then your hand gets stuck in the air above your head. You glance up and see shadows twirling around your forearm and hand, keeping it from moving. "Enough." The man in front of you says. "I wouldn't try that, if I were you." The swordsman steps back, but yanks the iron bar off your restrained hand.