Mya didn't know what was going on.
The way the area looked and sounded was the same, but at the same time, it was all wrong. The lantern was still lit and the table was in its same location, with not even one of them raising their hands.
Nevertheless, the atmosphere filled Mya's lungs as if a huge boulder sat on top of her chest, making it hard to breathe. Mya moved her eyes between the two people. The first was Mischa. She was standing with her back against the wall, arms crossed in front of her, and smiling as she did when speaking to Mya, but Mya could see an edge of steel under the silk of Mischa's dress.
Then, there was Assad, who had not said anything else since his first comment, nor had he moved since Mya had spoken with him earlier. The most frightening part was that Assad had that vacant expression of his before. It was not angry and it was not calm; it was devoid of any emotion.
Mya's fingers curled into her sleeves and her heart was pounding so loudly she was afraid they would hear it.
'Should I run?'
Mya's legs wouldn't move and the doorway was a few steps away. If Mya turned and ran, she could reach the doorway before anyone noticed she was gone.But her legs didn't listen.
'Should I stop them?'
The thought occurred to her just as quickly, just as futilely. Her mouth felt dry. What could she possibly say? What could she possibly do? The silence continued and each passing moment only made it worse, worse, worse: thicker, heavier, like the pause before something would break.
Mya swallowed hard.She needed help,she needed hope.
She needed all of that, and yet, standing there, caught between the two of them, she felt as though she had somehow stepped into a place she wasn't meant to be, and whatever would happen next would be completely beyond her control.
The silence that was enveloping the area finally was broken by Mischa as she took a deep sigh.
"Deary me this is starting to get a little rude isn't it."
Assad still staring deep into Mischa's soul stayed quiet, the talking was taking to long and all he wanted was to beat the living hell out of the person who is standing right in front of him
"How about we stop this awkward silence and get this done already."
Mischa's words hung in the air, light and playful. Assad didn't say anything but the silence was shorter this time, sharper. No longer waiting. No longer uncertain. He took a step forward and the sound of his boot on the floor was quiet, but it was a crack of glass nonetheless.
Mya flinched.
Mischa's smile didn't fade, but something in her posture shifted. Her shoulders squared. Her weight shifted slightly, as if she were preparing to move, not talk.
"Impatient already?" You boys are always so eager." she said.
Assad's eyes didn't leave her face.
"You're stalling," he said.
Mischa hummed a tune. "Am I?"
Assad struck first, and there was no warning.
Mya barely had time to gasp before Mischa casually laughed.
She turned aside at the last second, the punch grazing past her cheek close enough to stir her hair. Her heels tapped lightly on the floor as she turned, both briefcases still in her hands.
Assad pressed forward, unrelenting. His punches were direct and efficient—no wasted motion. A knee, a hook, an elbow aimed to finish quickly.
Mischa danced around them.
She stepped back, turned, leaned just far enough for each punch to miss by inches. The briefcases moved with her, never once hitting the floor.
Mya could barely keep up.
"Mm… yes, you're strong." Mischa hummed, sidestepping a punch
Assad's foot crashed down, shattering a tile as he charged again.
"But impatient."
Mischa's heel struck the floor.
The next instant, she was inside his guard.
One briefcase snapped upward not as a weapon, but as a feint. Assad reacted on instinct.Mischa's knee drove into his side, sharp and precise. At the same time, she twisted her body and slammed the second case into his shoulder, using his own momentum against him.
Assad felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.
He crashed hard, his body thrown across the room, skidding before slamming into the edge of the table. Wood splintered. The lantern above swung wildly, light shaking across the walls.
Mischa straightened, smoothing her sleeve as if she'd merely brushed past someone in a crowded street.
Still holding both cases.
"Oh my, was that too rough? Don't take it personally I've had to silence far worse men than you." she said lightly, looking down at where Assad had fallen.
"Mya, my dear, it's time to move along."
Mya hesitated, glancing at Mischa's outstretched hand, torn between leaving and staying with Assad. She had witnessed the fight; Assad had been arrogant, yet he had listened to her story. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye.
"What are you waiting for? Come on, we have no time to waste."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mischa, but I want to stay with Assad," she replied, her voice trembling.
"Is that so? Well then, may we meet again if you're still alive."
Assad groaned as he pushed himself off the ground, dust swirling from his jacket like he'd just lost a battle with gravity.
"What happened? My head feels weird."
As Assad looked up he was met with the gaze of Mya who was worried for him. Seeing Mya made Assad feel uncomfortable about himself. He wanted to be mad and disappointed at her because she was already about to betray him the second Mischa made the offer.
But there was no point in showing those types of emotions as she had the right to do so, since her desperation to save her older sisters took over and the easier route was right in front of her so she had to take it.
Now the question is why did she suddenly decided to stay behind instead of going with Mischa.