She hated it.

She really hated it.

She had always thought of herself as the steal-headed bitch with nerves as hard as a sailor on shore leave.

And now?

Now, she was flinching at every stupid noise. Every sudden clap of thunder, door slam, call out in the street, whistle....everything made her jump. Krysira was now constantly looking over her shoulder. It wasn't just because she was having second thoughts about her partnership (if one could even call it that) with Nocent, although that would have been enough to send her into a whirlpool of self-doubt.

What was worse now was the word on the street, particularly in the West End. People were talking about the murders, that much was a no-brainer. But people were talking about the murders and how they doubted an actual Scathachian's involvement. More opinions seemed to be that someone who was a Scathachian-hater was the culprit.

Folks in Club Blue the other night were also talking about how they might be letting the Scathachian out of prison. Krysira had nearly choked on her drink. The only thing she could think of was Isuelt coming for her; cue the nerves.

Then, she thought of something worse....

Nocent coming after her.

Cue the sweat.