Face-to-Face

“Sigona?”

Enya called her name in surprise.

Sigona had opened the door with a cloth-covered basket in her hands.

As Enya’s gaze traveled from Sigona’s red hair down to the basket, Sigona surveyed the wreckage inside the room.

The table shoved far out of place and the chairs knocked over.

Tarmin sprawled across the bench.

Enya clinging to him, one hand resting on his chest.

After taking in Enya’s damp, sweat-slick forehead and flushed face, Sigona quickly backed away.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’ll come back another time!”

Enya sprang to her feet and waved frantically at the closing door...