They rounded the corner and stopped in their tracks. A group of guards stood in front of them, advancing quickly, their faces stonelike. Anya faltered, backing up slightly.
She looked surprisingly upset, her brow furrowing. “I don’t... I don’t know if I can do much more,” she said worriedly. “Your survival depends on it,” Stephanie snapped, her voice sharp. “We can’t take them all.”
“We did,” Stephanie said grimly. “But they’re not huge. It would be nice to have Anya as backup.” “Okay, okay. Hold on,” Anya replied, rubbing her eyes. “I can do this...” Her tattoos began to glow again, sputtering to life like an abandoned engine. She closed her eyes, a grimace crossing her face as she pressed her palms together. A liquid the color of sea glass fell from beneath her eyelashes, like a tear. The weapons in the hands of the guards crumpled in their hands. Stephanie took the opportunity to draw her own weapon, firing shots at them.
Basel reached up, wiping the supposed tear from her cheek. He had never been good with weapons, so he didn't bring any.
The tear would look strangely familiar to him. She shook her head, almost to herself, before folding her fingers together. As they watched, members of the guard stopped in their tracks, all the blood rushing from their faces.
She trembled, her head tilting. The guards stopped, before their heads all turned at an unnatural angle in unison, causing them to fall to the ground. Anya swayed dangerously before passing out, falling against Basel.
(Zoop!) They returned to the ship, and hours later, Anya was back in his bed, still unconscious and pale.
She looked over, lifting her hand to run her fingers through his hair gently, her lips chapped and her brows furrowed.
She was watching him, her brows furrowed. “Why are you down there?” she asked, her voice incredibly hoarse.
