"Wow..." Annela mumbles under her breath. She didn't see the time passing by, but now that she does think of it, her feet and legs are particularly sore. They went from morning to dark in the blink of an eye. Annela has a hard time persuading herself, but the blackness outside doesn't fool her senses. Someone flips a switch and old lightbulbs crackle to shine their yellow light on the wooden and rustic interior. The seven muscular men suddenly start going up a staircase, earning the old woman an inquisitive glance from Annela. 

          "We're taking him to a room where he can rest and take his time to wake up," she explains. She seems to have regained a little strength, but her curbed back appears to pain her. 

          "Would you like to eat something?" the old woman offers, observing Annela's tired stance. 

          "I'm not hungry," lies the girl, who only wants to be by Christian's side. 

          "Suit yourself," the old woman renounces, walking to the kitchen, leaving the girl standing alone in the middle of a common room, where a large table occupies its center. 

          Annela! Evandro mentally calls, passing through the opened entrance door. She doesn't reply him, eyes far off into the distance, a dazed expression leaving her lips slightly parted. 

          "Annela," he orally repeats. The young lady spins around to the sound and she smiles lightly to the handsome man walking up to her, a youthful twinkle in his eyes. 

          Is the target safe? he asks, not used to seeing her usual confidently impassible facial expression so tired. She looks into his eyes, expecting him to talk. But his eyes vividly shine and move around her face, showing he is communicating with her. However little does he know that he might as well be talking to a wall. 

          Annela, are you okay? he continues to inquire. Her sad eyes look away, a melancholic smile on her lips. 

          What's wrong? he unceasingly questions. 

          "I can't hear you anymore," she quietly admits. 

          "Why? What happened?" he bewilderedly bombards. "Did Abuela make you pay with your power?" he gasps. "I told you to tell them I sent you here!" he heatedly whisper-yells. "Her means of payment don't apply to people I personally send here!" he shakes his head. 

          "Abuela!" he thunders. 

          "No no no," Annela halts. "Don't bother her, she is exhausted."

          He stares at her incredulously. 

          "I gave him my power," she reveals somberly. 

          His hand covers his mouth, and his heart falters. The old woman comes rushing, a worried expression distorting her face. They communicate together to what seems to be an intense conversation by their dynamically changing facial expressions. The heated discussion seems to steadily seem to cool down and the old woman walks back to her kitchen. 

          Evandro's eyes harshly turn to Annela. 

          "I've never seen anyone so incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid," he frowns. "Do you get the extent of your own action?" His tone rising to a high pitch. "We've just lost one of our best agents! I mean, agent 21.10.00!" he whispers the confidential information in her ear, his words resembling to the grunts of an animal. "Every single member of the agency wonders who you are, you never fail a mission!"

          "Are you finished?" she flatly questions. He forces his heart to stop racing by deeply breathing in and exhaling. "Get over it, no one can do anything about it now can they?" she spits. "At least I won't fail any other mission since there won't be any," she humorlessly chuckles, her own words stabbing her painfully in the chest. 

           He shakes his head unbelievingly and flops down on a worn out arm chair. The men walk down the stairs, without Christian, and Annela hastily runs up, forgetting about Evandro as soon as he is out of her sight. Her eyes scan every room she passes until she arrives in front of a small bedroom, where Christian lies immobile at the center of the space, on a bed with colorful dark blue and purple sheets, like the cloth the old woman had unfolded on the bloc of rock in the underground room. Her breath seems to stay stuck in her throat at the sight of the washed and cleaned up young man, no trace of blood visible anymore on his face. She quietly closes the door behind her and sits on on extremity of the bed, looking at his face.

          They didn't bother dressing him up, letting his bare body exposed, on top of the unnecessary covers. A rebellious curl rests on his forehead. His long dark eyelashes cover his eyes, and her eyes fall on his lips. 

           An indescribably captivating aura pulls her closer to him. His peaceful breathing calms her own. She doesn't know for how long she stays by his side, gazing off into the countryside from his bedroom window, reveling herself in the silence of her mind. Minutes? Hours? 

          Looking outside into the stars, sat on the window pane, his shuffling magnetizes her eyes onto him. His own slowly flutter open, looking around, disoriented. His chest lifts and drops faster an faster. She lightly hops onto her feet, and flexibly sits on the side of his bed. His head snaps to the feminine silhouette his eyes don't immediately discern, contrasting with the bright moonlight behind her. Her hair is brought to one side, on her right shoulder, revealing a familiar elegant neck he remembered stealing glances at whenever he had the chance. 

          "Shhh..." he hears come out of her mouth. She passes the back of her hand softly on his forehead, pushing his curl away before it comes back stubbornly to its previous place. He suddenly inhales, an electric discharge running through his body at the physical contact. 

          "Annela," he suddenly whispers, flashes of her graceful facial features fusing through his mind. He lifts a hand off his chest to run his fingers through her hair to gently grab her head on the side. His memories hit him like a train and his throat blocks, depriving his lungs of oxygen. The storm of souvenirs swirls around his mind, paralyzing his burning limbs. The air seems sweltering, unable to enter demanding heart, pumping frantically. 

           "Christian," his ears hear her delicate voice call. Her thin hands compress his broad shoulders, trying to snap him out of his daze. She sticks her forehead onto his, looking into his eyes, consumed by the darkness of the room. 

          "Pull yourself together," she orders. The suffocating air seems to heat up, his fervor growing as he hears her heavy breathing. The degrees of his body reaches those of a terrifically beastly  forest fire. An unplanned instinctive feeling starts flowing through him arriving hand in hand with a rush of adrenaline cause by the proximity of her skin against his. He desperately lifts his chin for his lips to gently press against hers.