Chapter 39

  ? In the Stillness, Something New ?

  The clinic smelled of carbolic and candle wax, sharp enough to sting the nose. Shadows pooled in the corners, broken only by the faint glow of a lantern swaying above. Mira’s eyes fluttered open, heavy and unfocused at first, until the pale ceiling steadied into shape.

  For a moment she lay still, drifting, then memory struck like a wave. The knife. Zack’s twisted face. The tearing pain that stole her breath. And then—Leo’s return, his voice cutting through the chaos, a presence that she thought she’d never feel again.

  Her chest tightened under the weight of it all. Fear gnawed at her, betrayal stung, sorrow pressed against her throat. And yet—threaded through it—relief, even joy, fierce enough to ache, because her leader had come back.

  Her hand slid down, cautious, until her fingertips brushed against the bandages around her waist. She felt the taut pull of stitches beneath, foreign and raw. Pain surged when she pressed too close, sharp enough to make her gasp. Yes, it was real. She was alive.

  And then—his voice.

  “Mira—Mira, stay with me,”

  “Hang on.”

  “We got you.”

  Alex’s voice.

  Her eyes widened, heart stumbling in her chest. Blurred fragments surfaced — pressure at her side, a fleeting warmth brushing her brow, a voice cutting through the haze, low and insistent. The weight of someone refusing to let go. A thread of will pulling her back from the dark.

  Her pulse raced. Her ears burned. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, trying to quiet the sudden rush in her chest.

  "What… is this?"

  She lay back against the pillow, breath uneven, bewildered by her own warmth. The clinic was cold, yet she could feel it—an ember deep inside, flickering to life where she hadn’t expected it.

  And all she could hear, again and again, were his words.

  “We got you.”

  “Hang on.”

  “Mira—Mira"

  "Stay with me.”

  Few days later,

  The slums breathed differently in the days after the brawl. Streets that once bristled with tension now hummed with whispers, scraps of talk carried from corner to corner. Men hunched over crates outside taverns, old women gossiping by laundry lines, children darting between alleys—all repeating the same words in different tones.

  Two men rested against a wall, their voices low but certain.

  “Red Corner kids are not around anymore.”

  “I feel much safer now. My boy can work without looking over his shoulder.”

  Not far off, a cluster of children traded rumors in hurried bursts.

  “The Wolves gang did it. They stopped them.”

  "Aren't they one? Red corner kids and the Wolves?"

  "No. They merged but it didn't work. Lino explained it to me and he is spreading word in the neighborhoods to clear it up."

  Lino, Tonno and Pinch, strutted through the narrow streets, sunlight slanting down on crooked roofs and laundry lines.

  The name passed through the slums like a spark, half in awe, half in relief. The Wolves had done what no one else dared, and for the first time in a long while, the air felt lighter.

  “Here they are!” a group of girls cried from a doorway, no older than ten. "Tonno!! Pinch!! Linoo!!" Hands waved, a few cheers rang out—half-teasing, half-admiring.

  Tonno turned red instantly. For all his bulk, he ducked his head, awkwardly lifting one arm to wave back at as many as he could. “H-hello…” he muttered, flustered.

  Pinch hopped ahead, practically skipping, grinning at every shout. Lino, meanwhile, walked with his chin up, hands shoved into his pockets like he owned the street.

  “Which one is Leo?” one of the girls whispered.

  One girl fiddled with her braid, barely audible. “He is not here... I wonder how much he’s changed since we last saw him.” Her words slipped out shyly, and the others only giggled, nudging her.

  "I wanted to see the one named Dante too." another sighed, disappointed.

  “But what about the boy who treated Mira? They said if it weren’t for him, she would’ve died.”

  “That’s awful…” another murmured, shivering at the thought. "But thank god it's over."

  Tonno shot Lino a glare. “Hey! Get off your high horse. You act like you carried us on your back or something.”

  Lino smirked, savoring every second. “Let me taste it. We’re heroes. Enjoy it.”

  Pinch suddenly turned and yelled, “Lino! Behind you!”

  Lino spun around, startled, thinking it's the Red corner kids attacking again.

  Tonno erupted in laughter. Pinch darted behind his broad frame, sticking out his tongue.

  “Serves you right! You’re so arrogant!”

  Lino grinned, realizing Pinch was just messing around.

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  “Look at you… learning jokes now.”

  Tonno rumbled, shaking his head.

  “This little man will be smarter than you in no time.”

  Pinch puffed out his chest.

  “And stronger too.”

  Lino laughed.

  “Stronger maybe. Smarter? I don't think so.” and resumed walking, while Pinch hopped along.

  Then, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, tilting his head and making an innocent, wide-eyed face at both.

  “Hey… can we go see Mira now?”

  Lino glanced back, amused but patient.

  “You’ll go with me at noon, Pinch. Leo doesn’t want us swarming the clinic all at once. Also he says if we space it out, she won’t be left alone the whole day. Morning, noon, evening — she’ll always have someone with her.”

  Pinch huffed, arms crossed, little stomps echoing on the cobblestones. “Yesterday's visit wasn't enough.” He pouted, cheeks red, fists curling at his sides. Then, after a moment, he slumped a little, muttering under his breath, “But… if Leo says so, I guess I’ll wait.”

  Tonno exhaled, shoulders easing.

  “I’m just glad she’s better. She should leave soon. I really miss having her around... Even Leo is not around that much.”

  Lino shrugged.

  “Can’t be helped. He’s everywhere these days—just got his job back, visiting Mira, taking care of Dina's grave, sorting some paperwork... let's give him some time until he settles in.”

  A heavy creak echoed from the alley corner. An old man, hunched and stooped, wrestled with a battered wooden basket, its contents shifting threateningly. He grunted with every lift, knees wobbling, face lined with effort.

  “Hey! Wolves—or Roosters or whatever! Could you lend me a hand here?” his voice cracked, but there was no malice, only frustration with the unwieldy load.

  Pinch’s small feet scuttled over first, eyes wide with determination. Lino and Tonno followed, quickly assessing the weight. Pinch grabbed one end together with Lino, while Tonno braced the other.

  “Sir, we—” Lino began, unsure if he should correct the man.

  The old man shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Yes. Yes. You’ve told the story thousands of times. It’s not you boys. The bad kids used your name.”

  Tonno let out a chuckle, shaking his head at Lino’s stiff posture. Lino’s face burned red, embarrassed, almost letting go of the basket.

  “What’re you laughing at?” Lino snapped, cheeks hot.

  Pinch’s little voice piped up, squeaky but determined,

  “Hey! Lift, Lino! Don’t be a baby!”

  “That’s right!” Tonno added with a grin, “Lift, Lino!”

  Lino groaned, shoulders squaring, and adjusted his grip. Together, the three of them steadied the basket, the awkward teamwork slowly turning into something almost graceful. For the first time in days, their names felt less like fear and more like a badge of effort, earned in small acts that mattered.

  The plaza was alive — merchants calling out their wares, children chasing each other between the cobblestones, the fountain spilling its steady song. Yet in the center of it all, the noise faded beneath Noor’s violin.

  She played with her eyes closed, the bow gliding like a whisper, every note steady, certain, and impossibly soft. There was no strain, no effort in her face — only a quiet grace, as if the music were simply flowing through her. For a while, the plaza itself seemed to breathe in time with her.

  When the last note trembled into silence, the world rushed back. A wave of applause broke out, scattered claps swelling into a chorus. One man near the front rubbed at his eyes, overcome. He leaned down, hand shaking slightly, and placed a golden coin in the open case at her feet.

  Noor opened her eyes, calm as ever, and bowed with her usual, simple poise.

  More coins clinked against the velvet as the crowd lingered, whispering praise, reluctant to leave. But no one dared crowd her too close anymore. Not since the Red Corner’s grip had been broken. In this space, by the fountain, Noor was safe.

  From the far edge of the crowd, a figure moved closer — a copper, scar slanting across his cheek. Daniel. He didn’t speak, didn’t linger. Just bent down, slipped a coin into the case, and stepped back, eyes flicking left and right. His shoulders were taut with focus, every muscle carrying the weight of vigilance. Nothing like the last time.

  Noor’s gaze followed him as he returned to his post, sharp eyes scanning, jaw set with stubborn resolve. She caught herself smiling. The man was trying — trying to do better, to be better.

  A thought took root, quiet but insistent: perhaps when she returned home, she would write something new. A song for a man learning how to keep watch.

  Morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the private room. Mira lay in bed, still recovering. The door creaked open slowly.

  Her eyes widened, lips pressed together. He was really here. The tiniest doubt that she was having a fever dream or hallucinating was gone.

  Leo stepped in, calm, deliberate, and took a seat by her bedside. “Good morning, Mira,” he said softly, a small, comforting smile on his face.

  Mira trembled at the greeting, tears threatening to spill. "Shut up..." Her voice was small, frustrated, and shaky. “What do you mean, ‘good morning, Mira’?”

  Leo looked at her. Her face was healthier now, color returning, but he remembered her pale, bloodied state, fighting between life and death.

  Leo said gently. “I came yesterday and the day before and found you sleeping.”

  Mira’s shoulders shook. “Then wake me up!” she snapped. “Do you think I’d tell you to leave? Cover my head with the blanket and tell you to leave? After nearly two years, thinking I’d never see you again? I—”

  “I’m not heartless like you…", Her voice broke. She lowered her gaze, trying to suppress the tears. "We... missed you..."

  "... I missed you, Leo.”

  Leo reached out, steady, and placed a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch radiated like a shield around her chest, grounding her, washing away her frustration, her fear. She felt the weight of his calm, the brotherly reassurance that no one could shake.

  “You haven’t changed one bit,” Leo said softly, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re taller, but that’s it.”

  "Right back at you." She sniffed, wiping her eyes, the burden lifting. A small smile appeared. “You’re so annoying.”

  But her expression shifted suddenly. “…Zack.” The name made her shiver. Her hand instinctively moved to her wound.

  Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly, in a way that felt almost hypnotic.

  “He is nowhere to be found. Focus only on your recovery.”

  Mira hesitated, then nodded.

  “How are you feeling?” Leo asked.

  “Better... much better...” Mira sighed, shoulders easing. Then, softer, almost pleading, “Can we… spar again when I’m out?”

  "Only after you're fully healed."

  Mira nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips. The agreement came easy, but the spark in her eyes betrayed her impatience — already restless for the moment to come.

  Leo’s grin returned, small but genuine.

  “I hear stories about you. That you’ve improved.”

  “Just wait until you see. Your days as number one fighter are over,” Mira said, lifting her chin, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

  But the fire faded for a moment, replaced by something softer—a faint shadow of sadness. She clutched the edge of the blanket, voice barely above a whisper.

  “Did he… come?”

  Leo tilted his head slightly.

  “Alex? I didn't see him.”

  She nodded, trying to hide her face, cheeks burning. Then, it hit her.

  “Wait! How did you know I was asking for Alex?”

  "I heard you whisper his name while you were asleep,” Leo said, stone-faced.

  “What?! Liar!” Mira cried, turning red.

  “Doctor Kranz says he comes on Sundays,” Leo continued. “Maybe you’ll see him then.”

  “W-W-Why would I care if he comes or not?” she asked, flustered.

  “Then why are you asking?”

  “Just… shut up! I was talking, keeping the conversation going!”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t ‘I see’ me!”

  Then, unexpectedly, Leo laughed. Genuine, unguarded, and bright. Mira froze, stunned. The sound was warm, almost musical — something she hadn’t heard in far too long. Despite her embarrassment, she laughed too, wiping at her eyes, clinging to the moment..

  As her laughter rang in the little room, Leo’s eyes softened. Yet behind that calm, another thought lingered. Dante. He held it at bay.

  Later, he told himself. Later, he would act. Once this girl and the gang are back on their feet.