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's windows like a blind eye watching them.
Rasen rested his forehead against the cold glass, tracing a fading circle with his breath.
"I need to leave," Aisha said, slicing through the silence. Her voice wasn't a plea — it was the unsheathing of a dagger. "Will you help me or keep decorating windows?"
Rasen turned slowly. The neon light carved sharp shadows across his cheekbones, and the violet locket shimmered beneath his shirt.
"Do you know what you're asking for?" he said, voice laid like a snare. "There are more doctors and reporters outside."
She sat up with a stifled groan, ripping out the IV line until the needle popped from her skin. A drop of purple blood gleamed on her arm before vanishing.
"What's outside..." she murmured, wiping it off with the back of her hand, "is my war. And you're my accomplice, not my warden."
The locket vibrated. Inside, the photo of young Aisha blurred, replaced by three concentric circles pulsing with his heartbeat.
The second-floor hallway smelled like bleach and artificial mint. Rasen slipped through the shadows, dodging cameras. Aisha followed barefoot, wrapped in a hospital sheet like a makeshift hood.
As they passed the nurses' station, a TV whispered:
"Breaking news: Attack in the spa tunnel. Two suspects on the run…"
Rasen slammed the stolen wheelchair's accelerator. Aisha gripped the armrests, choking down the hysterical laughter rising in her throat. At the front desk, a guard yawned at his phone. The locket flared brighter.
"Now," Rasen growled.
They shot out the emergency exit. The alarm rang two seconds too late, as they vanished into the alley, where moonlight never reached the filthy asphalt.
The tunnel breathed dampness. Every drop echoed in time with their steps. Aisha led, one hand brushing the wall, the other clutching the knife Rasen had given her.("For fruit," he had said.)
"What are we?" she asked suddenly, her voice echoing through the dark.
Rasen held his breath. The scar on his chest pulsed faintly beneath his shirt."We're what's left when lies rot," he said as he passed her.
A metallic screech froze them. A flashlight clicked on, revealing a face disfigured by acid.
"Good boy, Rasen," the man laughed, spinning a butcher's knife. "The Mistress will give you a treat for bringing her."
Aisha tasted copper. Stefan. Not his name—his essence: gunpowder and sweet iron.
Rasen lunged without a roar, moving like spilled ink. The knife arced in silver, slicing through the air where his head had been a second earlier.
Aisha stumbled back, tripping over something soft and wet.
"Run!" Rasen roared, dodging a thrust that slammed into the wall.
But Aisha was already moving. Her fingers closed around a rusty iron bar.When the man turned to strike again, she brought it down with the precision of someone who'd dreamed this moment a thousand times.
The blow rang like a church bell. The knife fell, followed by two fingers rolling to Rasen's feet.
"No," Aisha said, stepping on the man's remaining hand. "You run."
In the distance, headlights cut through the dark.Rasen pulled her into a wall recess, covering her mouth with his hand. Bergamot and sweat wrapped Aisha in a shroud of contradiction.
The light faded, leaving only the metallic echo of a pocket watch crashing to the ground. Its hands spun backward, as if time itself mocked them.Rasen picked it up with trembling fingers. The dial revealed the mark: S.S.V., writhing like a living thing under the tunnel's pale light.
"He wasn't human," he whispered, voice hollow. His scar pulsed in response to the mark.Aisha leaned against him, staining his shirt with blood and rust. The locket glowed a dull red, casting light on her silent tears.
"Neither are you," she said — not a judgment, just a truth they'd both avoided.
Rasen stared at her, breath unsteady. His fingers tangled in her hair, halfway between tenderness and desperation.
"Why are you shaking?" he asked, though he already knew.
Aisha brushed off his hand, as if the touch burned her.
"Every time I touch you, I see his future..." her voice cracked, "...and yours fades."
Thunder rolled through the tunnel's belly.Rasen pulled her closer 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 prophecy.Aisha tasted bergamot, iron... and something else: a metallic tang, like blades hidden behind lips. The locket on his chest burned crimson, casting twisting shadows across the walls.
"Promise me something," Rasen whispered, teeth brushing her skin. "When this ends, you'll let me kill you."
Aisha laughed, a fractured sound lost in the dark."Only if you promise to make me feel alive first."
Their words were drowned by the explosion of the watch.A violet cloud burst around them, carrying whispers in forgotten tongues. In the whirlwind, a sharp laugh merged with Aisha's, and a guttural vow echoed from Rasen:
"Sariel will come for his debt."
When the dust settled, silence remained.Rasen lay on the floor, pupils blown wide. A violet flash crossed his eyes.
"Rasen?" Aisha touched his face. He flinched, rubbing his eyes like trying to erase a vision.
"It was... the powder," he lied, hiding hands that now trembled in strange, almost mechanical rhythms.
In the distance, the broken watch ticked erratically.Its hands had stopped at the exact hour when Luciano Kerens made his first pact.