The warm kiss of morning sunlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting golden streaks across the tiled floor. Bara stirred on the couch, groaning as he stretched like a cat. His bones gave a satisfying pop, and a loud yawn escaped his lips.
"Ugh… What time is it?" he mumbled to no one in particular. Then, as if on cue, his stomach growled like a protesting lion.
He followed the scent of fried plantains and spicy egg sauce wafting from the kitchen, leading him into the dining room. Plates clinked. Chairs scraped. The house was alive.
As he entered, Ify glanced up from the table and smirked. "Well, well, look who finally decided to rise from the grave—again."
Bara gave a sleepy half-smile. "I was dead, remember? Let a man catch some extra sleep."
Malik, already halfway through his second slice of bread, said nothing—just glanced up, gave him a nod, and kept chewing like the world depended on it.
Bara plopped into a chair and exhaled. "Smells like heaven in here."
Without a word, Ify placed a hot plate in front of him. Fried plantain, egg sauce swimming with vegetables, and two slices of bread stacked on the side. "Eat. It won't serve itself."
"You're an angel, you know that?" Bara muttered, already shoveling food into his mouth. "If I die again, I hope I come back to your cooking."
"You die again and I'm not reviving you," she replied, sipping from her tea. "One more soul-trauma and you'll owe me a new blender."
The table filled with light laughter—well, mostly from Ify. Malik simply chewed.
They talked idly as Bara devoured his meal like a man possessed. Ify filled the silence with updates: the broken sink she managed to fix ("You owe me a wrench, by the way"), the crazy neighbor who now claimed to be a prophet, and her recent run-in with Jack's landlord ("Long story—let's just say he now waters his plants with holy water.")
Malik raised a brow but said nothing, occasionally sliding a piece of plantain into his mouth.
Then the mood shifted, slightly, when Ify cleared her throat and leaned back. "So… funny thing. We're kind of... low on cash."
Bara paused mid-bite. "Define low."
"As in, rent's due in a week, fridge is almost empty, and Malik eats like a war refugee," she said, gesturing at Malik, who raised an eyebrow but kept munching calmly.
"I do not," he replied dryly.
"You had five boiled eggs yesterday," she deadpanned.
"I was hungry."
"You are hunger."
Bara chuckled through a mouthful of bread. "Okay, okay, so we're broke."
"Broke-broke," Ify affirmed. "The kind that makes you start considering if that neighbor's prophet gig might pay."
Bara rubbed his chin. "Alright. Time to come up with something. I can probably talk to that contact of mine in the Guild… maybe get some info gigs or runner work."
"Or maybe we sell Malik's silence as a service. Just stand in people's houses being mysterious and mildly terrifying," Ify offered, grinning.
Malik simply blinked at her.
They all shared a short laugh. But beneath the humor, the tension lingered. They were alive, yes—but survival came next.
The last of the breakfast dishes clinked into the sink as Ify wiped her hands on a towel, watching the two boys with a raised brow. Bara leaned back in his chair, clearly energized by the meal and something else—something that put a dangerous glint in his eye.
"Ify," he said casually, "how about you head to the Guild and see if there are any jobs we can take?"
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "And what will you two be doing?"
"Stretching our legs," Bara replied with an innocent tone that was anything but. "You know—asking around, seeing if there's any odd jobs, security gigs, bounty slips. Nothing major."
Malik turned his gaze toward Bara, studying him with the quiet intensity of someone who saw what others missed. His cursed eyes flickered faintly, and though Bara's expression was carefully neutral, Malik could see the corner of his lips twitch with mischief.
Ify folded her arms. "Right. You and the Grim Reaper walking around unsupervised. What could possibly go wrong?"
Bara held up his hands in mock surrender. "Come on, have a little faith."
"I have faith," she said dryly. "Just not in you two together."
Still, after a moment of hesitation, she grabbed her scarf from the back of the chair and slung her satchel over her shoulder.
"Fine. But no disappearing, no blowing things up, and no dead bodies," she said, pointing a warning finger at both of them.
"No promises," Bara muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing! Be safe," he smiled.
With one last suspicious glance, Ify stepped out the door, heading toward the Guild district.
The moment the door shut, Bara exhaled through his nose and stretched again.
"Well," he said, standing and dusting his hands, "shall we?"
Malik didn't move. He simply stared at him with that same unreadable face.
"I know that look," he said quietly.
"What look?"
"That I'm-going-to-do-something-reckless-but-fun look."
Bara grinned. "Tch. You don't know me."
Malik didn't respond, but his eyes flickered again with that ghostly glimmer. "Just don't get us cursed again."
"I make no guarantees," Bara said, slapping him on the back as they stepped out into the sunlit street.
They walked side by side down the cobbled path, the breeze carrying the scents of a busy morning in the lower quarter—fried yams from food vendors, smoke from tinkerers' shops, and the faint, always-present trace of dust and magic.
Bara's stride was light, almost bouncing with energy, while Malik followed with quiet, controlled steps, always watching.
The city was alive. Somewhere in it, trouble waited. And Bara had every intention of finding it.
Malik trailed behind Bara, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, head slightly bowed, the cursed glow in his eyes hidden beneath his fringe. Every step he took was cautious, quiet—his ears filtering out the distant noise of the market, focusing only on the careless whistling coming from the boy ahead of him.
Bara walked like he had no weight in the world, lips pursed as he whistled a catchy toon, hands swinging freely at his sides. His gait was relaxed, but the smirk playing on his lips hinted at mischief brewing underneath.
They came to a stop in front of a run-down, graffiti-laced building nestled between two warehouses. The air around it smelled like stale beer, sweat, and regret. Even in the morning, bass thumped from inside like a heartbeat, and distant moans and laughter filtered through the poorly sealed windows.
Everyone in this part of the city knew what this place was: a brothel that doubled as a loan shark's nest—a place where debts were paid in flesh, blood, or broken bones.
Malik glanced at Bara, brow furrowing. "Are you sure we're meant to be here?" he asked lowly. "Does Ify know you're collecting a loan?"
Bara just grinned. "Who said anything about loans?"
Before Malik could stop him, Bara lifted a boot and kicked the front door open with a loud crack. The wooden door slammed against the inside wall, startling the room into silence.
Inside, chaos reigned—until that moment.
The air was heavy with smoke and perfume. Half-naked men and women froze mid-motion, blinking in confusion. A girl in red lingerie paused with a bottle in her hand. Two thugs playing cards by the bar stopped mid-play. And on a velvet couch at the far end, a man with gold chains and a leering smile looked up with clear irritation.
The thumping music still pulsed in the background, but the room had gone deathly still.
Bara stepped in, eyes gleaming with mischief, and shouted, "I need your boss here, motherfuckers!"
Malik groaned, placing a hand over his face. "This guy just put us in trouble."
Someone stood, cracking their knuckles. "Who the hell are you?"
Bara didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned slightly toward Malik and whispered with a grin, "Let's make some cash."
Then, he turned back to the room, arms wide like a performer before a crowd. "Your boss owes me a favor," he said, lying with the confidence of a king. "And I'm here to collect."
The tension in the room thickened.
One of the guards moved, slowly reaching for his weapon.
Malik let out a long breath. His eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood. "You better know what you're doing."
Bara didn't answer. He just smiled wider, his fingers twitching at his sides, eyes dancing in the neon haze.