He had work at the coliseum that night and couldn’t be late.

The door was closed, and Hannah sat by the window, looking up and out.

This side faced east, with simple buildings and apartments, the tallest being six stories high.

Although lacking by external standards, by Bree’s measure, these were considered good living conditions.

Seventeen had really put a lot of thought into it.

Outside the window was a tall banyan tree, its foliage lush in this season, probably because it had grown for many years without maintenance, with some branches and leaves already reaching into the window, within easy reach.

Sunlight trickled down through the treetops onto the windowsill, and the old-fashioned stained glass cast a faint halo, making everything seem tranquil and beautiful, aside from the fact that this was in Bree.

Suddenly, Hannah stood and walked to the window to look down, just as Seventeen was walking under the tree.

The seventeen-year-old boy was thin but tall, with closely shaved hair, and still bore scars under his eyes and on his forehead.

Seventeen had the look of a rough and tough type, with prominent brow bones that made his eyes look especially fierce. Sensing something, he looked up and saw Hannah looking down from the window.

He stopped walking and waved at Hannah, furrowing his brow, signaling her to hurry back inside.

He didn’t want too many people to know about Hannah’s presence, for her safety.

A delicate and pretty girl in the east side would be a target for everyone, and with his current strength, he couldn’t protect Hannah.

Hannah seemed to understand Seventeen’s intent. She closed the window and returned to her original seat.

She began to space out again.

...

Hannah was always taciturn, sometimes not speaking a single word all day.

Most of the time, she just sat by the window, possibly watching the brief visit of a small bird on the treetops or the sunlight falling on the leaves.

Seventeen wasn’t much of a talker either, so the house was usually very quiet.

But Seventeen really enjoyed such times, liking the feeling of looking up to see Hannah.

The sunlight would fall on her face, a warm layer of light, and she would look down, seriously fiddling with several wooden blocks in her hands.

The blocks were triangular and square, all made by Seventeen, who then painted them bright colors.

Hannah could play with them for an entire day.

"You need to go to bed earlier today," Seventeen said as he tidied up the table.

Hannah sat on the chair, still tinkering with the blocks.

"Hannah."

Seventeen walked over, squatted in front of her, his forehead bearing a fresh wound, with more hidden beneath his clothes, unseen.

Only the seeping of blood was evident.

"It’s late."

He spoke again.

Hannah then lifted her head to look at him, staring steadily, her black and white eyes clear, "You’re hurt."

Her tone carried the softness typical of a girl, but her intonation was flat, like a wind-up doll that only spoke when wound.

Others might find it somewhat eerie.

The little witch was still the same.

Seventeen blinked, subconsciously covering his abdomen with his hand.

After coming down from the coliseum, he had only managed to hurriedly wrap a bandage before rushing over, without even having time for proper medication.

Hannah stacked the wooden blocks higher, "I want to go out."

Seventeen looked startled, his pupils dilating, "What?" He was terrified at the thought of Hannah leaving.

Two red squares topped with an inverted yellow triangle, the whole structure looking unstable.