Mihawk walked into the inn. The quiet, almost calm and peaceful island a stark contrast to how things seemed in here. He had no time to spare in staring at people, or paying attention to those who saw him and immediately knew who he was.

He was here for a reason, and one reason only.

Her.

His steps were cautious, yet he was determined to find her right where she had told him she was. He went upstairs, finding the room with the distinctive, almost invisible to anyone else, mark. A scratch shaped like a snake underneath the doorknob. That was her room.

He knew her well enough now to know that, whenever she needed his help, he didn't need to knock on the door of whatever inn she was staying at. And this time wasn't different.

He stepped into the room, taking in the organized things all over the place. Tomes, small chests, potions. The witch hand't changed her habits in the past twelve years.

And then he saw her. Her silhouette next to the window, gazing outside. He closed the door behind him, which made her turn to look at him. And he saw it. The busted lip, the bruise on her cheekbone, and her distant gaze.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice firm, concerned, and angry.