ROSE P.O.V.
I have spent the entire day anxiously observing the square from my perch in the shadows of the alleyway. It is a cool spring afternoon, but the chilling sense of foreboding dampened the sun’s rays. Deegon and Quinn are visibly distressed, bound to a post in the center of the square, each one bearing the marks of their pain.
“This is like shooting fish in a barrel.” I muttered to myself, trying to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble to the surface.
Not one guard is around them. All the people are going on as if nothing just happened to them. In fact, they are not even making eye contact with Deegon and Quinn's desperate groans.
When the sun began to set I head back to our room. We change to our black clothes and ski masks, and then I carefully sprayed us with a co
