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Chapter 204: ’Leila, Levi’s Sister’

Chapter 204: ’Leila, Levi’s Sister’

Florian barely had time to think—his body had already started to drop. Instinct overrode logic, legs bending, ready to beg, to plead, to get on his knees if he had to. His mind raced through possible excuses, desperate to explain himself, to say something that might keep whoever grabbed him from dragging him straight to whatever passed for a prison in this cursed village.

But then—

He turned.

And the words died in his throat.

A girl.

Younger than him. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, though something about her—her thin frame, the way she carried herself—made her seem smaller. Fragile.

Pale. Too pale.

Her skin looked almost translucent in the dim light, her face gaunt, sunken, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Hollow, dark eyes met his—sharp despite their emptiness, framed by strands of limp black hair clinging to her face.

For a moment, Florian could only stare. His pulse, which had been hammering wildly with panic, stuttered.

’Who...?’

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t explain.

She just pulled.

Not harshly, not violently—but firmly.

Dragging him away from the storage unit with silent, unwavering intent.

Florian hesitated. His instincts screamed at him to resist, to yank himself free, to demand answers—but something in him whispered, Follow.

So he did.

His feet stumbled slightly as he fell into step beside her, his mind still reeling. His breath remained uneven, the putrid scent of rot clawing at his senses, but as they moved—

He noticed.

The smell was fading.

The nausea in his gut loosened, the sickly burn in his throat dulling. Each step they took away from that door made the sensation lessen, until finally—

It was gone.

Florian’s stomach twisted.

The girl hadn’t gagged. Hadn’t flinched.

Hadn’t reacted at all.

Like she couldn’t smell it.

At all.

His throat felt dry.

"What—" His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, tried again. "Who are you?"

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t pause.

But she did speak.

"First, tell me what you were doing there."

Her voice was quiet. Steady. Measured.

Florian hesitated. He could lie—say he was lost, say it was some mistake, some misunderstanding—but if she had already seen everything, if she had known he was there from the start, wouldn’t lying just make things worse?

So instead, he exhaled slowly.

"I smelled something," he admitted. "Something horrible. It was coming from that storage unit, so I just—I wanted to check it out."

The girl’s grip tightened slightly.

Then, she shook her head.

"There’s no smell."

Florian blinked.

"What?"

"You’re probably just losing your mind." The girl finally glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "It’s your first time in the village, isn’t it?"

His mouth opened—nothing came out at first.

That couldn’t be right.

He knew what he smelled.

He knew how it made him sick, how it burned his eyes, how it coated the inside of his lungs like filth—

But.

No one else reacted to it.

No one.

The nausea in his gut coiled tighter, sharper. This time, it wasn’t from the stench.

Florian wanted to press. To argue, to demand an explanation—

But more than anything, he wanted to know who this girl was.

She finally stopped walking when they had put enough distance between themselves and the storage unit, turning to face him fully.

Her posture was guarded. Careful.

"That place belongs to the village chief and the elder members," she said. "No one’s allowed near it."

Florian exhaled sharply. "I didn’t know." Running a hand through his hair, he forced down the lingering unease rattling in his chest. "Sorry."

The girl studied him for a moment.

Then, she crossed her arms over her chest.

The movement was so familiar—sharp, defensive, but not threatening.

For just a second, Florian was reminded of Kaz.

The memory hit him like a dull ache to the ribs.

He swallowed.

"Who are you?" His gaze flickered over her pale face again. "And why are you out here? You look—" he hesitated, searching for the right word. "Sick."

A pause.

The girl didn’t answer at first.

Then, finally—

"...Leila."

Florian’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His body refused to move.

’This is her.’

Leila.

The name echoed in his skull, louder than it should have, rattling around like a cruel reminder.

His hands went clammy. His chest felt too tight. His throat too dry.

This was Levi’s sister.

The same Levi who had thrown himself into death’s jaws just to get Florian out. The same Levi who had died—brutally, horribly—because of Florian.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His pulse hammered in his ears, deafening.

She had his eyes.

Now that he was really looking, he could see it—the same sharp, piercing gaze, the same intensity, even if hers were dulled by sickness and exhaustion. But unlike Levi, her body looked fragile. Frail, barely held together, as if the weight of existing was simply too much.

Florian felt sick.

His lungs squeezed, and suddenly—

He was back there.

Trapped. Bound. Helpless.

The scent of blood thick in the air, clogging his throat. Arthur’s voice, cruel and mocking.

Levi’s breathing—ragged. Desperate.

Then—

The branches.

Dozens of them. Piercing through flesh, through bone.

Levi’s scream—raw, broken—still clung to the edges of Florian’s memory, like a wound that refused to close.

His stomach lurched.

A sharp inhale cut through the haze.

Leila shifted, tilting her head slightly.

"...What’s wrong?"

Florian barely registered the question. His throat was too dry, his chest too tight.

"I—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, forcing the words out.

"I’m sorry."

Leila stiffened.

Florian dropped his gaze. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again. And again. And again.

Because what else could he say?

How could he tell her?

’Your brother saved me. And I let him die.’

The words curled inside his skull like a curse.

He had no right to stand in front of her.

’I thought I could do this. I thought I could just apologize and help. But seeing her now...fuck.’

The guilt he had spent the past few days shoving down, the same guilt that had been eating him alive, was back in full force—crawling up his throat like bile.

Leila’s voice pulled him back.

"Why are you apologizing?" Her expression shifted—uncertainty flickering in her dark eyes. "My... brother sent you, didn’t he?" A pause. A hesitation.

Then—

"What... happened?"

Florian looked at her.

She was waiting. Expecting something.

She didn’t know.

The realization sent a fresh, vicious stab of pain through his chest.

He had to calm himself. Now. He had to tell her. She deserved to know.

He wasn’t the one who had lost everything.

He wasn’t the victim.

So he forced himself to breathe.

In.

Out.

Again. Again.

Finally, he found his voice.

"I have to tell you something."

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