Chapter 135

I looked down at Lydia and myself, covered in blood and trembling from the adrenaline. There was no way we could walk out on the street like this; questions would swarm us, and the last thing we needed right now was more attention.

"Alright, we need to disguise ourselves," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

Lydia nodded weakly, clutching at the remains of her dress. I glanced around the dingy room, looking for anything we could use. There was a pile of rags in the corner—old,

discarded clothing. They were dirty and smelled of neglect, but they would have to do. I quickly grabbed a couple of pieces, handing one to Lydia.

"Put this on," I instructed, already pulling a tattered coat over my own bloody, torn clothes. We both moved quickly, driven by the need to escape as fast as possible.

"Do you think he'll come after us?" Lydia asked, her voice quivering as she changed into the rags.

Her words left me confused. How could she think that a dead man could come after us? But then it sunk