Chapter 7:
The scar on her waist throbbed like the echo of a heart monitor, a reminder that death had brushed against her. Outside, the full moon reflected on the hospital windows like a blind eye watching them. Rasen rested his forehead against the cold glass, tracing a circle with his breath that vanished instantly.
"I need to get out," Aisha said, breaking the silence. Her voice wasn't a plea but the edge of an unsheathed dagger. "Will you help me, or will you keep decorating windows?"
Rasen turned slowly. The neon light carved sharp shadows along his cheekbones, and the violet relic glowed beneath his shirt."Do you know what you're asking?" The words fell like an open trap. "Outside there are reporters… and nurses passing by constantly."
She sat up with a muffled groan, yanking at the IV until the needle popped from her skin. A single purple drop shimmered on her forearm before vanishing.
"What's out there…" she muttered, wiping her arm with the back of her hand, "…is my war. And you are my accomplice, not my guardian."
The relic vibrated. Inside, the photo of young Aisha blurred, replaced by three concentric circles that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The second-floor hallway smelled of bleach and fake mint. Rasen moved close to the shadows, dodging cameras. Aisha followed barefoot, the bedsheets draped into a makeshift hood. As they passed the nurses' station, a television whispered:
"Breaking news: attack in the spa tunnel. Two suspects sought..."
Rasen pressed the wheelchair's stolen accelerator. Aisha clung to the armrests, swallowing down the hysterical laugh rising in her throat. At reception, a guard yawned into his phone. The relic burned brighter."Now," he growled.
They rolled through the emergency exit. The alarm blared two seconds late, by the time they were already in the alley behind the hospital, where the moonlight couldn't touch the grimy asphalt.
The tunnel breathed dampness. Every drip of water marked the pace of their steps. Aisha led, her left hand brushing the wall, her right gripping the knife Rasen had given her. ("For cutting fruit," he had said.)"What are we?" she asked suddenly, her voice echoing in the dark.
Rasen's breath caught. His scar glimmered faintly beneath his shirt."We're what's left when lies rot," he replied as he passed her.
A metallic screech stopped them. A flashlight flared ahead, revealing a face melted by acid."Good dog, Rasen," the man laughed, twirling a butcher's knife. "The Mistress will give you a treat for delivering her."
Aisha tasted copper in her mouth. Stefan. Not the name—his essence: gunpowder and sweet iron.
Rasen lunged without a roar, his movements fluid like spilled ink. The man's knife carved a silver arc through the air, slicing where his head had been half a second earlier. Aisha staggered back, stumbling over something soft and wet on the ground."Run!" Rasen roared, dodging a thrust that buried itself in the wall.
But Aisha was already moving. Her fingers closed around a rusted iron bar. When the man turned to strike again, she swung with the precision of someone who had dreamed this moment a thousand times.
The impact rang like a church bell. The knife clattered down, followed by two fingers rolling to Rasen's feet."No," Aisha said, crushing the man's remaining hand under her heel. "You run."
In the distance, car headlights slashed through the dark. Rasen yanked her into a niche in the wall, his hand covering her mouth. The scent of bergamot and sweat wrapped Aisha in a shroud of contradictions.
The headlights faded, leaving only the metallic echo of a pocket watch smashing against the floor. Its hands spun backward, as if time itself mocked them. Rasen picked it up with trembling fingers. The face revealed the symbol S.S.V., writhing like a living creature under the tunnel's dim light.
"He wasn't human," Rasen gasped, his voice hollow. His scar pulsed in answer to the symbol.
Aisha leaned against his shoulder, staining his shirt with blood and rust. The relic glowed a muted red, lighting the tears streaming down her face."You aren't either," she whispered—not an accusation, but a truth they both avoided naming.
Rasen looked at her, breath ragged. His fingers tangled in her hair with a gesture caught between tenderness and desperation."Why are you trembling?" he asked, though he already knew.
Aisha brushed away the hand that grazed her cheek, as if his touch burned."Every time I touch you, I see his future…" Her voice broke. "And yours vanishes."
A thunderclap rolled through the tunnel's bowels. Rasen pulled her to him with a ferocity that erased all distance."Then wrap yourself in me," he murmured against her lips, "until nothing remains of what I was."
The kiss was a collision of need and omen. Aisha tasted bergamot, iron… and something else: a metallic tang, as if his lips concealed blades. The relic on his chest burned crimson, casting twisted shadows along the walls.
"Promise me something," Rasen whispered in her ear, teeth grazing her skin. "When this ends, you'll let me kill you."
Aisha laughed, a fractured sound swallowed by the dark."Only if you promise to make me feel alive first."
Her words were drowned by the watch's explosion. A cloud of violet dust engulfed them, carrying whispers in forgotten tongues. Within the storm, a shrill laugh mingled with Aisha's, and a guttural oath resonated in Rasen's voice:"Sariel will come for his debt."
When the dust cleared, only silence remained. Rasen lay sprawled on the floor, pupils dilated. A violet flash flickered in his eyes."Rasen?" Aisha touched his face. He recoiled sharply, rubbing his eyelids as if trying to erase a vision.
"It was… the dust," he lied, hiding hands that now trembled strangely, almost mechanically.
In the distance, the shattered watch ticked irregularly. The hands were frozen at the exact hour when Luciano Kerens had sealed his first pact.