11
SAROUSCH gritted his teeth as he stood over Madellaine, her betrayal replaying in his mind like a sour melody he couldn't shake. His chest rose and fell suddenly with the aftermath of his sudden strike. The small wooden club he had used lay discarded at his feet, its weight meaningless compared to the immense satisfaction that now surged through him.
His trinket's unconscious form sprawled across the ground, her soft breathing the only sound in the otherwise still night.
She had forced his hand.
Sarousch took a moment to catch his breath, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow as his eyes roamed over Madellaine's figure. He had known for days now that she was wavering, slipping further and further from his control. It wasn't just about the hunchback—though the monster in the bell towers of Notre Dame had undoubtedly played a part.
It was that look in her eyes lately, the glimmer of guilt, the hesitation every time he'd spoken to her. Madellaine had begun to believe that she was more than just a pawn in his schemes.
That mistake was hers, and she was paying for it now. He crouched beside her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, careful not to disturb her too much.
She was still alive—he hadn't struck her hard enough to cause any serious harm. Just enough to remind her of her place. Just enough to put her out long enough for him to carry her away, to a place where she would have no choice but to face the reality of her situation.
"You thought you could run from me, didn't you, trinket?" he muttered under his breath, a cold sneer curling his lips. "But you should know by now—you're mine, and you'll always be mine."
His fingers tightened around her wrists, testing the knots of the ropes he had tied moments earlier, just before slipping inside Madellaine's tent. They were secure. Madellaine wouldn't be going anywhere. Not now, not after everything she had done. She had betrayed him, and Sarousch didn't forgive betrayal. He would make sure she understood that this time, there would be no escape.
Sarousch straightened, glancing toward the entrance of the tent. The camp was quiet, given the lateness of the hour, and thankfully, no one had noticed him slipping inside her tent, and even if they had, they all feared him. He would find no resistance among the members of his troupe whose lives he held in his hands. Sarousch hoisted her unconscious body in his arms, her weight insignificant compared to the growing fury in his chest. He moved swiftly, ducking out of the tent and into the shadows, keeping to the darker paths of the camp.
The streets of Paris were eerily quiet as he moved through them, the sounds of the city distant but muted. The moonlight cast long shadows as he weaved his way expertly through alleyways and across empty streets, his steps measured and silent. He was no stranger to the shadows—they had been his companions for years, always hiding his true intentions from the world.
Madellaine's unconscious form was a dead weight in his arms, her head lolling with every step. But Sarousch barely spared her a second glance as he approached Notre Dame.
Sarousch's pulse quickened as he neared the church, the great cathedral's towers rising against the night sky, their familiar grandeur and beauty casting a haunting shadow over Paris. Inside was the prize he had been working toward for months—the treasures hidden within Notre Dame's treasury, waiting for someone clever enough to claim them.
And that someone was him.
Madellaine was simply a tool. She had betrayed him, yes, but she was still useful. She had given him everything he needed to succeed, even if she hadn't realized it. And now, with her unconscious in his arms, she was a perfect prop to complete his ruse.
As he approached the cathedral, Sarousch slowed his pace, drawing the hood of his cloak even lower to hide his face. The two guards stationed at the entrance stood stiff at attention and vigilant, their eyes scanning the darkness. Sarousch smiled beneath the shadow of his dark cloak. He was a master of performance, after all, and the art of deception was his true craft.
He allowed himself to stumble forward slightly, adopting a haggard, desperate gait. He could feel the weight of Madellaine's body sag against him, and he adjusted her carefully, making it appear as though he was struggling to carry her. His voice would need to be different now—softer, weaker. A performer's trick. He could make himself sound like a man on the verge of collapse, someone desperate for help.
The guards tensed as they spotted him approaching, their hands resting instinctively on the hilts of their swords at their hips.
"H-Help, please," Sarousch called out, his voice breathless and strained, embodying the character of a weary traveler. "Please…I need sanctuary. My…my daughter, she's hurt."
The shorter of the two guards stepped forward, his brow furrowed with suspicion and the edges of the man's mustache twitching in agitation at the interruption.
"What happened to her?" he demanded, his voice firm. "We've been ordered to keep a close watch by the Captain of the Guard, monsieur. No one's allowed in after nightfall without a reason."
Sarousch lowered his head, making sure to keep his face hidden beneath his cloak's hood. "She—she was attacked," he rasped, his voice catching as if he were on the verge of tears. "I beg you…let us in. She needs help. Please, I have nowhere else to go."
The guard hesitated, glancing at his partner. Sarousch could see the uncertainty in their eyes. The recent thefts had made them cautious, naturally, but they were also human, susceptible to the sight of a desperate man begging for help.
"Please, I only need shelter for the night, nothing more," Sarousch continued, his voice softening, pleading. "The good people of Notre Dame…they can help her. My daughter won't survive out here."
The guard's grip on his sword loosened slightly, and he nodded to his partner. "Fine. But stay close. We'll take you to one of the nuns."
Sarousch suppressed a grin, his heart racing with triumph as they stepped aside to let him through. He dipped his head in gratitude, carefully maintaining his role as the grieving father. He shifted Madellaine's weight on his shoulder, making sure her face remained hidden from view, and stepped through the cathedral's grand doors.
The inside of Notre Dame was vast, the air cool and heavy with the scent of burning candles. The flickering light cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the high vaulted ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above. Sarousch took a moment to compose himself as the guards led him deeper into the cathedral.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice still trembling with feigned emotion. "May God bless you for your kindness."
The guards nodded, one of them gesturing toward a side chapel where a nun stood lighting a candle. "You can stay here for the night," the guard said. "We'll have someone fetch you in the morning."
Sarousch nodded his thanks, watching as the guards left him alone in the chapel. He waited until their footsteps had faded into the distance before allowing himself to relax, just slightly. The hard part was done. He had gained access to Notre Dame, and now, all that remained was to carry out the final stage of his plan.
He laid Madellaine carefully on a bench, her body still limp and unconscious. His eyes swept over the grandeur of the cathedral, taking in the beauty and the secrets it held.
The treasury was close now, hidden behind locked doors deep within the cathedral's chambers. But he had everything he needed—Madellaine had already told him where to find the entrance, and how the treasury door looked different from the others. Sarousch crouched beside her, brushing a hand over her hair with a mock tenderness.
"You did well, trinket," he whispered, his voice low and cruel. "Whether you realize it or not, you've played your part perfectly." He straightened, his gaze hardening as he turned away from her and toward the grand altar at the far end of the cathedral. The time had come.
The treasure was his for the taking, and soon, all of Paris would know the name Sarousch—not as a mere performer, but as a man who had outsmarted them all.
But before Sarousch could take the first step towards the side corridor of the chapel that led to the deeper chambers, a woman's voice cut through the silence.
"Excuse me, sir," a calm but firm voice said, with the confidence of someone meant to be here. Sarousch's heart skipped, and he froze, cursing his bad luck. The nun he had noticed earlier in the chapel, wearing plain robes, was walking towards him now with a worried look.
"What are you doing trying to leave?" she asked, her gaze sharp as it fell on him. "I was told by one of the guards you needed help for your injured companion. Where is she?"
Sarousch turned, forcing his posture to slump slightly as he reassumed his previous guise of a weary, desperate man. The performer within him shifted gears instantly. He had expected something like this, but still, it irritated him that he hadn't moved faster.
He plastered a pitiful expression onto his face, keeping his hood low but just high enough that she could see the stress and grief he created in his features.
"Forgive me, sister," he said, softening his voice with an edge of sorrow. "I was… looking for water, for my daughter. She—she needs it. The guards said we could rest in the chapel, but I—" His voice cracked, and he dropped his gaze, feigning anguish. "I couldn't stand to see her like that… She's so weak."
The nun's expression softened, and she moved closer, her eyes full of sympathy as she studied him. "Your daughter?" she asked, her tone gentler now. "The girl you were carrying—how old is she?"
Sarousch hesitated just a fraction of a second, enough to make it seem like it pained him to speak of it. "She's… nineteen," he said smoothly. "Madellaine, my dear sweet girl. My only child."
The nun nodded slowly, her stern expression melting into one of pity and concern. "I see. I'm sorry. I didn't realize she was so unwell." She glanced down the hallway, as though trying to decide whether to escort him back herself. "The guards should have taken you to the infirmary, where she could be properly cared for. Let me fetch some water for you and see if there's a physician available."
Sarousch felt his pulse quicken, a flicker of impatience rising within him. This was not part of the plan. If the nun insisted on returning with him, it would only complicate things further. He had to think quickly, to keep her distracted while he made his next move.
"No, please, that's not necessary, Sister, but it is very kind of you to offer," he said, raising a hand as if to stop her. "She…she just needs rest. The journey has been long and hard for us both. She's lost so much…her mother, our home." He choked on the words, conjuring the perfect image of a grieving father on the edge of despair. "I promised I would take care of her, but now…."
The nun's face softened even more, her hands reaching out in a comforting gesture. "You must be strong for her, monsieur. It's difficult, but she needs you now more than ever."
Sarousch seized the moment, lowering his head to hide the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Yes," he whispered, "I know. I just… I need a moment, if you could give us some privacy. I want to pray for her."
The nun nodded, her expression full of sympathy. "Of course," she said softly. "I'll give you space. But if you need anything, I'll be nearby. I'll say a prayer for your daughter as well." She offered a gentle smile and stepped back, her hands folded in front of her as she slowly retreated down the hall.
Sarousch exhaled slowly, keeping his head bowed until the nun was out of sight. Once she disappeared, he straightened, his entire demeanor shifting back to the cold, calculating man he truly was. His lips curled into a thin smile.
"Fools," he muttered under his breath, turning back to face the bench he had left Madellaine on.
He had managed to convince the guards and the nun with his performance, but he was far from safe. He cursed under his breath, realizing he couldn't leave Madellaine in the chapel. If she were discovered, unconscious and bound, everything would unravel. A low growl of frustration left his lips. He hadn't planned on dragging her this far, but now, it seemed he was left with no choice. He would take her with him to the treasury, far away from the prying eyes of the guards or the nosy nun.
Moving swiftly, he returned to the bench where she lay slumped, still unconscious. He crouched, grabbed her limp form, and hoisted her roughly over his shoulder once again.
The weight of her was nothing compared to the treasure he was about to seize. Sarousch adjusted his grip and turned toward the back of the cathedral, slipping into the shadows with ease. The grand halls of Notre Dame were silent as he carried her deeper into the cathedral.
His heart pounded with anticipation. The vault was just ahead, hidden behind layers of stone and secrecy, but he knew its exact location thanks to Madellaine's unwilling help. She had been so naïve, so easy to manipulate. It had been simple to extract everything he needed from her, and now she would serve one last purpose before he discarded her for good.
Finally, Sarousch reached the hidden door to the treasury. With a practiced motion, he picked the door's lock—until he heard the satisfying click of the lock releasing.
The heavy door groaned open, revealing the chamber beyond. A wave of anticipation washed over him as the faint light from the cathedral's candles illuminated the room.
Gold. Silver. Jewels. The wealth of centuries lay before him, glittering and untouched, hidden away behind these walls. Sarousch's heart raced as he stepped inside, his eyes devouring the sight of riches beyond imagination. Carefully, he lowered Madellaine onto the stone floor in the corner of the room, casting only a glance at her as she lay motionless.
"Stay there, trinket," he muttered, more to himself than to her unconscious form. "I've got work to do."
Sarousch wasted no time. He began pilfering the treasure, his gloved hands greedily grabbing at gold chalices, jeweled crowns, and silver ornaments. He stuffed them into the leather bag he had concealed beneath his cloak, his movements quick and efficient. Every clink of metal and sparkle of gems sent a rush of satisfaction through him. Soon, he would be untouchable—free from Paris, free from the circus, free from anyone who thought they could control him.
But as he worked, a faint sound reached his ears. A soft, groggy moan.
Sarousch froze, his hands hovering over a silver candelabra. He turned his head slowly toward the corner of the room, where Madellaine lay. She stirred, her body shifting as she slowly began to regain consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, and she winced in pain, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"W-Where...?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and weak.
Sarousch's jaw clenched. He dropped the candelabra with a sharp clink and marched toward her, his eyes blazing with anger. Madellaine's dazed gaze focused on him, her confusion deepening as she realized where she was—and who was standing over her.
"Sarousch…" she whispered, her voice trembling. She tried to sit up, wincing in pain as she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists. "W-what… what are you doing?"
Sarousch's patience snapped. He crouched down in front of her, his face inches from hers, his eyes dark with fury.
"What am I doing?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "I'm taking what's rightfully mine, trinket. The treasures of Notre Dame. And you—you've already played your part in this."
Madellaine's eyes widened in horror as she glanced around the room, taking in the sight of the scattered treasures and Sarousch's overflowing bag of stolen goods. "No…" she whispered, shaking her head. "No, Sarousch, you can't do this! You can't—this is wrong!"
Sarousch's face twisted into a cruel sneer. "Wrong? Do you think I care about what's wrong? Do you think these people care about us, Madellaine? They never cared. I was always going to take what I deserved. And now, you're just a loose end."
He frowned as he swore he could hear Madellaine's heart pounding in her chest as she tried to struggle against her bindings, but the ropes were too tight. "Please, Master," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Please, Sarousch… don't do this. You don't have to—"
"Silence!" Sarousch snarled, his hand shooting out to grab her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You had your chance to be loyal to me, and you failed. I've given you everything, and this—" he gestured to the treasure surrounding them, "—this is my reward. You're nothing more than a pawn, trinket, and now that you've outlived your usefulness to me, you'll sit here quietly while I finish what I came for."
Madellaine's eyes filled with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I trusted you."
Sarousch's sneer only deepened. "Your mistake, my dear." He released her roughly, standing and turning back toward the treasure, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He wouldn't let her ruin this. He had come too far, worked too hard, to be stopped by her pathetic pleas.
As he bent down to gather more of the stolen goods, Sarousch heard Madellaine shifting behind him, her voice hoarse but filled with a desperate determination. "I...I won't let you get away with this."
Sarousch whirled around, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "And just how do you think you'll stop me?" he spat, his voice dripping with scorn. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her roughly so that her bound wrists made her stumble. "You're powerless, Madellaine. You always were."
Madellaine's chest heaved with fear and frustration, but she didn't look away from him. Despite the pain in her head, despite the confusion and terror coursing through her, she managed to meet his gaze with defiance.
Sarousch saw that spark in her eyes and felt his anger rise again. He had no time for her bravery, no time for her foolish hope. He tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his eyes as the defiance burning in them only fueled his fury. Letting out a low, mocking laugh, the sound echoed through the stone chamber.
"Look at you," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Bound, broken, and still you think you can stand in my way? How utterly pathetic." He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and dangerous. "You truly believed that wretched hunchback could save you, didn't you? Or perhaps you thought you could redeem yourself by playing the hero. But you're nothing, Madellaine. You always have been."
Her lips trembled, but her eyes never left his. She was scared—he could see it in the way her body trembled—but still, that glimmer of defiance remained.
"I-I won't let you do this," she whispered, her voice hoarse but firm. "Quasimodo will stop you. Phoebus will stop you. They'll know what you've done, Sarousch. You won't get away with it."
Sarousch straightened, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Madellaine's words faltered. "Get away with it?" he echoed, his voice dripping with dark mockery. "Oh, I will get away with it. Do you know why, my little bonbon? Because there won't be anyone left to tell them what I've done."
He watched her closely, savoring the way her face paled, the fear setting in. She was starting to understand, but not fully yet. That's when his smile grew. He could see the realization creeping into her wide eyes.
"You thought I'd just leave you behind, didn't you?" he sneered, his voice deliberately soft and sinister. "Let you run off and tell that wretched hunchback everything? No, no, my dear. You've been far too much of a problem. Seen far too much."
Her panic as she realized what he was going to do set in and was delicious to witness, fueling him as she tugged at her bindings in a desperate attempt to free herself. He could hear her whispered pleas—weak and futile. "No…no, please, no…."
He laughed, sharp and cold, the sound filling the room. "Now you beg? After everything, you still don't get it, do you?" His eyes scanned the room for what he needed, and they landed on a cloth draped over an ornate chest. The plan was crystal clear now. Perfect.
"You've always been so sentimental, Madellaine, my dear. Too much for your own good," Sarousch muttered, crossing to the cloth and yanking it up in one swift motion. His grip tightened as a cruel smile spread across his face. He glanced back at her, eyes gleaming with mockery. "Do you remember? When I found you, you were nothing—just another orphan on the streets, desperate and weak. I gave you purpose and taught you how to survive in a world that wouldn't have spared you a second glance. You should be thanking me, not begging for your worthless life."
Sarousch soaked the cloth in oil from the nearby lamp, watching as the thick liquid dripped from the edges. "You really think there's some way to fix this, to stop what's already in motion?"
From behind him, her horrified gasp echoed, followed by the frantic cry of his name. "Sarousch, no! Please, you don't have to do this!"
But her voice was nothing more than background noise now. His mind was on the task, his hands moving swiftly as he laid the cloth against the stack of wooden crates near the treasure. The smell of oil thickened the air. He pulled the flint from his cloak, feeling the weight of it in his hand.
"Oh, but I do," he whispered to himself. "Fire is cleansing. It destroys. And when it's done, there'll be nothing left… no treasure, no witnesses."
Her frantic screams grew louder, her desperate voice grating as she struggled harder. "Sarousch! No, please! You-You'll kill people! There are others in the cathedral!"
His hand hovered over the oil-soaked cloth, and for a split second, he hesitated, the thought flickering through his mind. His eyes met hers, and he saw the desperation, the fear. Then he sneered.
"Collateral damage," he muttered, striking the flint.
The spark caught instantly. Flames erupted, eagerly devouring the cloth and spreading to the crates. He stepped back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the fire took hold, spreading fast, fueled by the oil. He felt the heat on his skin, and heard her sobbing, begging for him to stop, but her words meant nothing. The flames roared, consuming the room and all within it.
Sarousch turned, giving Madellaine one final, cold glance. "I'll be long gone from this place before anyone even realizes what happened," he said calmly, his voice cutting through the crackling fire. "Goodbye, Madellaine, my little trinket. You should have stayed loyal."
Without looking back, he strode toward the door, leaving her and the rising inferno behind him.
Sarousch didn't let himself look back as he hurried away from the treasury, the sound of the crackling fire growing louder behind him, accompanied by Madellaine's muffled sobs. The scent of burning wood and oil filled his nostrils, but he didn't care. This place, like so many before it, would soon be nothing more than ash.
He quickened his pace as he moved through the darkened corridors of the cathedral, his mind focused on the next steps. He had always been a step ahead, always ready to slip away just as the trap closed. The guards had no idea what he was capable of.
And now, with Madellaine out of the picture, no one could stop him. The distant sound of panicked voices echoed faintly down the hallway. The fire would draw attention soon enough, but it didn't matter. By the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late. He'd already made sure there were no obvious exits from the treasury room. The fire would seal Madellaine's fate.
Sarousch's lips curled into a cruel smile as he thought of her final moments. She'd be desperate, helpless, watching as the flames devoured everything around her. He had given her a chance to join him, but she'd chosen the wrong side. Loyalty was always a fool's game, and Madellaine was no different.
But just as he rounded a corner and reached for the side exit, something large and solid slammed into him with incredible force. Sarousch staggered, his body crashing to the floor, the breath knocked out of his lungs. For a moment, his vision spun, his head hitting the cold stone as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. What in the—
Before he could even finish the thought, a heavy weight pinned him to the ground, and he found himself face-to-face with the hunchback himself.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The monster's chest heaved as he glared down at Sarousch, and it was only then that Sarousch realized what he had accidentally stumbled into: the very heart of the beast.
Sarousch's mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. He hadn't expected to run into the hunchback down here, not now, not when he was supposed to be long gone. But as he looked into the monster's face—twisted with rage, the remnants of tears still glistening in his red eyes—he understood. The creature had been wandering these halls, heartbroken and desperate, trying to clear his head after Madellaine's betrayal.
The hunchback had been aimlessly wandering, and now, he had found Sarousch.
For a brief moment, Sarousch tried to scramble backward, but the monster grabbed him by the front of his cloak, yanking him up with a strength that sent a fresh jolt of panic through him.
A chill went down Sarousch's spine as the grotesque creature thrust his face dangerously close to his. He could see how the hunchback's face was twisted with pain, his eyes bloodshot from crying, and for a second, Sarousch nearly pitied the poor thing.
"What are you doing here? What have you done?" the beast snarled, his voice rough and trembling with rage. "Where is she? Where's Madellaine?"
Sarousch forced a smile, though his heart pounded in his chest. "Ah, yes, it's…Quasimodo, isn't it?" he began smoothly, though the words came out more strained than he would've liked. "Such a…surprise to see you here."
But the disgusting creature from the bell towers was in no mood for games. He slammed Sarousch against the wall with a force that made the air rush from his lungs. Sarousch winced, panic flickering through him as he realized just how dangerous this situation had become. The hunchback wasn't thinking straight, not with his heart broken and his mind clouded with pain.
"Where is she?" the beast demanded again, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. His fingers tightened around fistfuls of Sarousch's cloak, pulling him closer, and Sarousch could feel the sheer power behind his grip.
For a moment, Sarousch hesitated. He could see it in the monster's eyes—the deep, searing pain of betrayal. Madellaine had hurt him in a way no one else could, and now the poor creature was wandering around the cathedral, looking lost and trying to make sense of it all.
Pathetic, Sarousch thought, though the fear gnawing at him kept him silent.
"She's gone," Sarousch whispered, his voice low and taunting. "You're too late."
The hunchback's blue eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. His breath caught, and for a moment, Sarousch thought he might be sick as the color drained from him. Desperation was written all over him. But then the rage returned, and the hideous wretch slammed him against the wall, harder this time.
"You lie! What did you do to her?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.
Sarousch winced, his head spinning from the force of the impact. "She's where she belongs," he muttered, the sick satisfaction returning to his voice despite the growing fear he felt. "Tied up…surrounded by flames. But if you run now, maybe you'll have time to save her."
The hunchback's face twisted with horror, and for a second, his grip loosened. Sarousch saw his opportunity and shoved hard against the monster's chest, trying to break free. He managed to push the hunchback off balance, staggering back to his feet and smoothing his cloak with shaking hands.
"Of course, by the time you find her, everything will already be gone. Including your precious treasure," Sarousch added, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've lost, boy. You've lost everything."
The freak's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, Sarousch could see the panic welling within. Madellaine's betrayal had shattered him and left him wandering these halls like a broken creature, but it quickly became clear to Sarousch that the wretch still cared for his now-discarded trinket. The sight only fueled Sarousch's satisfaction more.
"She was never really yours, was she?" he sneered. "These last few weeks, and you thought she cared for you. How amusing. The poor, pitiful hunchback, hoping for love."
The disgusting cripple growled in fury and charged at Sarousch, but this time Sarousch was ready. He sidestepped him, watching as the creature stumbled forward, driven by desperation.
"Go," Sarousch taunted, his voice cold. "Go see her one last time, if you can find her before the flames do."
The hunchback's eyes blazed with panic as he spun around and sprinted toward the treasury, his footsteps heavy and frantic. Sarousch watched him go, his heart still racing, but a dark smile creeping back onto his face. He adjusted his cloak, straightened his posture, and turned toward the exit, slipping out into the night. The monster could try all he wanted—he wouldn't make it in time.
As the flames roared behind him, Sarousch disappeared into the shadows, leaving the hunchback to face the inferno alone.
Sarousch slipped into the night, his heart pounding with triumph as he made his way through the dark streets of Paris. Behind him, the cathedral was quiet—too quiet for now—but soon enough, it would become a beacon of chaos. He imagined the flames licking at the ancient stones, consuming everything within its reach. The thought brought a cruel smile to his lips.
The monster, Quasimodo, would be too late. Sarousch had been certain of that the moment he sent him racing down the hall. The fire would spread quickly, and Madellaine, tied and helpless, would be trapped in its grasp. The hunchback's futile efforts would be nothing more than a sad, pathetic attempt to play hero. Sarousch almost pitied him.
Almost.
His boots echoed softly as he moved down the cobbled streets, each step carrying him further from the scene of his perfect crime. He could still feel the weight of the treasure beneath his cloak, the stolen jewels and priceless relics pressing against his body, a tangible reminder of his impending fortune.
By the time the city woke, Sarousch would be long gone, a ghost in the night. He could already picture his new life—free from the circus, free from Paris, free from anyone who had ever doubted him. He had outsmarted them all, played the fool to perfection, and now he was reaping the rewards of his brilliance.
With a final sneer, Sarousch turned his back on the city, vanishing into the night like the shadow he had always been. He was free now.
And the world would never forget his name.