Chapter 83

Early the next morning, Elizabeth did something rare—she didn't sleep in. She got up, washed up quickly, and went out for a walk. Compared to the crazy, blood-and-guns life she'd led before, her current days were like living in heaven. No need to fight or run; her biggest concerns now were eating, drinking, and having fun, plus she got to be around her family. "Kind soul, please help me... I haven't eaten in days... please..." On her way back home, not far from the entrance, she ran into a beggar—frail, with a messy head of hair and clothes that looked more like rags than anything else. The woman held out a cracked, grimy bowl, you could barely tell what had been in it. And right beside her stood a tiny kid, no older than five or six, just as dirty and pitiful. Elizabeth had never thought of herself as some soft-hearted saint—her hands had seen too much blood. But seeing that little beggar clinging close to the woman hit something deep inside her, like a long-buried switch had been fli