As I leave Silva's chamber, a citrus scent greets me.
"Good Friday, Damian."
I turn to see a blue-eyed brunette girl. It's Kayla.
"Good Friday," I greet her back.
"Professor said I should spend time with you. I want to know you more," she smiles, teeth visible and clean.
I lean in closer. A faint scent of mint from her breath.
"I think that's a decent idea," I reply.
She takes my left side, hooking our arms. "Where are we going first?" she asks.
"Ummm… Library?" I glance at her.
Her brows loosen. Her eyes squint. No reaction.
"Let's get something to eat?"
"Sure," she nods.
We start walking. "Where are we going to eat?"
"Anywhere as long as I'm with my Damian," she smiles.
Cough.
She coughs as she rests her head on my shoulder.
Eyes on us as we walk. Each step brings more gaze. Each passing gaze gets us closer to leaving Haverstock.
Outside, we move toward the market.
Cough.
She coughs again.
Couple of steps later.
Cough.
That's the third time. I turn to her.
Black liquid coming out of her nose. The same liquid that comes out of Feral—black kuor.
I stop and let go of her arm. She turns to me, confused.
"Damian?" she asks. "We're not going to eat?"
I hold her hand and drag her.
From the street, I take her to the alley of my warehouse. It's quiet. No one walks through here, no witness.
I open the warehouse and gesture for Kayla to step inside. She hesitates, then crosses the threshold. I shut the door behind her and lock it from the inside. The click of the lock echoes faintly, and the faint vibration runs through my palms against the cold metal.
Kayla sits on the heavy table, facing me. She smirks, but it's slow, deliberate. "Is Damian finally man enough to do things with me?"
I don't respond. I watch her instead. Black kuor drips from her nose in thin, viscous lines, pooling slightly on the table. My chest tightens. Every nerve in my arms prickles.
"Kayla, what do you know about Professor Silva?"
She lifts a finger and twirls her hair absentmindedly. "Who's Professor Silva?"
The black kuor spreads—thickening around her eyes, streaming from her ears. Her head rocks slightly with each cough, but she doesn't seem to notice. I feel the hair on my arms lift; my stomach clenches.
A wet cough. Another. Black kuor pours from her mouth this time, sticky and slow, hitting the wood with a faint slap. My throat constricts, and I clamp my jaw.
"Forget about it," I say, low.
She turns to me. "Who are you?" Her voice cracks. Her brows pull together, tight, almost quivering. Her eyes dart to the corners of the warehouse, scanning. Confusion and fear ripple across her face.
"Where are we?" she adds, voice trembling.
"Calm down, Kayla," I say.
"Who's Kayla?" she replies, voice sharper this time, edge breaking.
"You are?" I repeat, and my stomach twists.
She tilts her head once, sharp, controlled.
"No, I'm Michelle," she says as Her fists clench at her sides. Her gaze doesn't waver—she corrects me. "Where's Alfrey?" She scans her surroundings with slow, careful sweeps.
The name hits me like a physical blow.
She rises from the table. The wood groans under her weight.
Cough.
Another cough follows. This time she heaves more black kuor, thicker, pooling at the edges of the table. My fists clench. My teeth grit. My heart hammers against my ribs. Sweats on my face.
"Alfrey?" She fixes her gaze on me, walking forward one measured step at a time.
Her head twitches—jerky, erratic, like she's resisting something inside her.
She takes two more steps. I can feel the air shift with her movement, the faint thud of her boots on the concrete. Our distance is calculated, precise. I don't move.
My pulse thrums in my ears. Every sense screams to react—but I stay still, watching, waiting.
Silence.
Then—
"Alfrey?"
She lunges.
Not a step. A launch. Fingers spread like claws, joints bending wrong.
I drop and roll as her strike cuts through where my head was. Air snaps past my ear. The floor slams my shoulder as I come up.
She pivots mid-motion. No pause. She jumps—
Too fast.
I bring my left arm up on instinct. Impact hits bone-deep. Her nails bite through fabric, through skin. Blood runs down my forearm.
I counter with my right fist. Straight. Hard.
She catches it.
Her grip locks instantly, fingers clamping with practiced certainty. My wrist stops dead. The force travels up my arm instead. She's smaller. She shouldn't be this strong.
"Alfrey?" she grins. Her breath is uneven. It no longer smells of citrus but rot and death.
I drive my knee up.
The strike lands clean in her abdomen. I feel resistance give—not soft, but displaced. Her body folds around it. She chokes, air forced out in a broken sound.
It's enough to break her grip. My arm is free as she skids backward.
She regains her composure. Her head twitches again. More black kuor pours out.
"ALFREY!"
She lunges forward. Jaws open wide, aiming for my neck.
I duck and catch her by the stomach, driving her down.
Thud.
She hits headfirst. I'm on top of her. My legs bracef on either side, weight pinning her to the floor.
"ALFREY!"
She snarls and grabs my sides. Nails pierce through my blazer—tearing the fabric apart and dig deep into skin, into flesh. Warm blood drips to the floor.
I endure.
I lift my left fist and drive it into her face. Then my right. She screams the whole time—high, raw, unbroken. There's nothing she can do from this position.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Again. And again.
Broken teeth scatter across the floor.
Eventually, her arms loosen. Fingers slacken. They slide off my sides and hit the floor.
I stand and draw in a breath. Hold it. Let it go. Again. Slower this time. My heart follows.
Sweat runs down my face. I wipe it away.
I look at her.
At her body. Then her face.
Every visible holes leak black kuor.
She's alive.
But she isn't getting up.
I turn and walk toward the heavy table in the center. As I reach it, I place my hands on the surface to support my weight and let out a longer breath than I meant to.
Not even a second passes—
A twitching sound behind me. From Kayla's direction.
I turn.
"Hissssss…."
Her body lifts using only her legs. The motion is wrong—too smooth. Her arms stay loose, hanging at her sides like they're weightless.
Her face turns toward me. Her head twitches once.
She smiles.
"Alfrey?"
Then she moves.
At first it's slow. One step. Then another.
Then it breaks.
She bursts forward, grinning as she closes the distance.
I drop fast and slide under the table.
She drops too.
Four limbs hit the floor and she crawls, low and fast, nails scraping stone. A wet sound follows her movement. She snarls as she comes.
I kick out, heel driving toward her face.
She doesn't recoil.
Her hands clamp around my ankle and shove it aside with deliberate force, not frantic, not rushed. She keeps coming. Her weight presses in, crowding the space. Then she's on top of me.
The table traps us low. There's barely room to turn.
Her knees pin my hips. Her hands crawl up from my sides—fingers digging, sliding—then close around my throat.
Hard.
Air stops. Painfully and completely.
I plant my palm against her face and grip hard. Then I drive her head sideways into the table leg.
BAM.
The impact shudders up my arm. She doesn't go limp, but her face splits—skin tearing unevenly. Blood and black kuor spill together, running down her cheek and jaw.
BAM.
Again. The sound changes. Duller. Her head cracks against the wood and this time something gives. Pale bone shows through the damage.
BAM.
Her left eye slips free, hanging wrong, and her fingers finally loosen around my neck.
Air floods back in.
I shove her away and scramble out from under the table, dragging myself toward the side of my throne as fast as my limbs will move.
Behind me, she shakes her head. Stops. Then steadies herself.
She crawls after me.
Fast—but I'm faster.
I reach my cylindrical bag first. My hand dives in. Cold metal. Familiar weight. I pull the revolver free and turn.
BANG.
Bullet to her throat. The impact snaps her head backward. Blood and black kuor burst out together.
BANG.
The second round hits her skull. It punches straight through, exiting the back in a wet crack.
She collapses.
Her body hits the floor and stay there.
No movement.
I lie down, back against the floor. Eyes closed.
Finally, I let my body rest.