The air snapped.
Not like a breeze, but like something tore open behind her.
Ayoka froze mid-sentence, fingers pressed to the page. The book lay heavy in her lap — Macbeth, full of curses and crowns and guilt dressed up as prophecy. She hadn't enjoyed a single chapter of it. But she read it anyway, because someone had taught her how, and because it kept her from tearing the curtains down.
All that fuss for power, she thought. Men chasing shadows and whining when it costs them blood.
She turned the page with slow disdain. And what's with that boy and his mother? There's a sickness there. Feels like a fetish no one wants to name.
She didn't get far.
The portal behind her closed with a sound like bone locking into place. Dust stirred. The flame in the nearest lamp bent toward the floor.
Ayoka set the book aside.
The woman was already inside.
Boots scarred with ash. A coat frayed at the hem. Braids pink and coiled like ceremonial rope. She hadn't announced herself, hadn't knocked — just walked through space like it was hers to open.
Ayoka stood slowly.
The chains dragged behind her—heavier than the last time. Thicker at the base, longer at the spine. Cold iron, sealed with marks she didn't recognize but could feel humming against her bones.
The Shadow Man had done that himself, after she'd tried slipping through the black with Sayoka. They'd almost made it, too—if the floorboards hadn't betrayed her with that damned creak. Sayoka was in punishment now, locked in some dim place behind the mirrors, where her light couldn't find Ayoka's anymore.
She missed her shadow. Missed the way Sayoka could cut silence with a smirk.
But perhaps this woman—this stranger wrapped in pink and fire—would keep her company, at least for now.
While they keep a good woman chained like a beast.
Ayoka adjusted her cuffs, chin lifted, gaze sharp. The iron bit into her skin, but she stood tall all the same.
icodemé didn't sit.
She just reached into the air beside her and snapped her fingers once. A dark bottle appeared in her hand — thick glass, unlabeled, cork sealed tight. She pulled it with her teeth and took a slow drink, like she had nowhere to be and no reason to speak first.
Ayoka's eyes narrowed. "You plan on offering some, or are we doing ghosts-and-etiquette now?"
Nic shrugged, then summoned another bottle and handed it over. "Made by jealous demons," she said, tilting her head. "Bit of sweetness. Burn like betrayal."
Ayoka took the bottle without ceremony and drank deep — not ladylike, not cautious. It hit the back of her throat like summer lightning and clawed all the way down.
She wiped her mouth with her wrist. "Tastes like bad decisions."
"Exactly," Nic said, and leaned against the wall, posture loose.
"So," she went on, "what's your story then? You don't carry common chains, and you don't smell like ordinary grief."
Ayoka raised the bottle in a mock-toast. "Got pregnant by a drifter. Now I'm here. Shadow Man doesn't take kindly to folks unfastening me, so I'm stuck." She gave a dry smile. "Wouldn't want to upset the host."
Nic started to laugh — a low, throaty sound.
"Oh," she said, "so he's your keeper. My brother always had a taste for drama."
Then she stopped mid-sentence.
Her gaze sharpened, narrowed like a hawk's. She stepped forward once, slowly, then again. Stopped just a breath away from Ayoka. She tilted her head — curious, not cruel — and opened her mouth.
Ayoka didn't have time to react before Nic exhaled.
A thin stream of dark venom hissed from her tongue, sharp and bitter-smelling. She caught it on her palm like it was wine, then drank it herself.
She studied Ayoka for a long moment. "You're one fucked-up soul," she said, but there was no insult in it. Just observation.
Then she stepped back.
"But it ain't my place to help you. Not this time. I made a promise."
"To who?" Ayoka asked.
Nic didn't blink. "To the one you call Shadow Man. And to that quiet one who watches — Valentín. No interference. Just a check-in."
Ayoka squinted. "So we're just drinking, then?"
Nic raised her bottle again. "Aren't most friendships born that way?"
Ayoka tilted her head. "You got male problems too?"
Nic gave a full laugh this time — hand to her stomach, head thrown back. "Don't I ever."
She walked toward the window, her coat dragging slightly behind her. "My soul's no cleaner than yours. Just older. I know how to keep the leash loose."
Ayoka sat back down, eyes narrowed, bottle half-full in her lap.
"This friendship thing," she said. "We trying it, or just pretending?"
Nic looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"Let's pretend. It's more fun that way."
They didn't speak about pain after that. Not directly.
Instead, they talked like women left alone long enough to get bored — trading little tricks like knives at a card table.
Nic taught her how to spit a lie so clean it sounded like a prayer. Ayoka showed her how to unhook a man's belt with one finger and no guilt. They laughed about the loud ones. Mocked the quiet ones. Named them in fragments — the missionary, the mirror-kisser, the crybaby, the twin who lied about being a twin.
Somewhere between bottle two and three, Nic leaned back and said, "I forgot how to speak Spanish on purpose. That way Valentín had to teach me. Mouth-to-mouth."
Ayoka snorted. "You forgot?"
"Mmhm," Nic said. "Erased it. Like burning the bridge behind you so you have an excuse to wade through the river."
Ayoka shook her head, grinning. "I wish I could forget languages. Can't. Not really. I can misspeak, though. I butcher Russian like I'm trying to fight it in a bar."
Nic laughed and poured another shot. "That's because Russian likes being fought. It only sounds right when you're furious."
They kept talking. Kept laughing. The rum worked slow and warm through their limbs like magic, softening the edges of their cynicism.
For a while, the chains didn't rattle. The house didn't whisper. It felt, almost, like any other room.
And then — Ayoka felt it.
That ache in her ribs, low and half-felt, like memory climbing back up a well.
This is how it used to be, she thought, when Sabine and I still sat on the same side of the world.
Quick tongues. Shared secrets. Looks that meant more than they said.
But Sabine had always felt too close. More like a sister than a friend. The kind of closeness that made you believe you were safe. The kind that left a bruise when it broke.
What did that get me? Ayoka thought. A self-righteous bitch of a friend who ran the moment I cracked instead of crying pretty like she did.
Nic wasn't Sabine. That was what made this easier.
She didn't pretend to be anything she wasn't. She didn't promise forever. She wouldn't call Ayoka "dear" and then run the moment her own guilt flared up.
This woman would leave.
Eventually. They always did.
But at least Nic was honest about it.
When the bottles were nearly dry, Nic clapped her hands once.
The glass vanished — clean, sudden, and without a sound.
Ayoka blinked at the empty space. "Rude."
"You're drunk," Nic said, folding her arms as she watched Ayoka sway a little too far to the left.
"I'm resting," Ayoka replied, lifting her chin with mock dignity.
"Same thing," Nic muttered, stepping forward across the room.
Ayoka grinned, loose-limbed and amused, and reached out to swat the side of Nic's hip with the back of her hand — a lazy, playful hit. "Don't sass me. I've got chains and nothing to lose."
Nic snorted, unbothered. "You swing like someone who's about to fall asleep on the floor."
"Then be a good guest," Ayoka said, wobbling slightly, "and help me not faceplant."
"I swear, you're more trouble than the gods," Nic sighed, crouching down beside her. "Come on. Get up."
She offered her hand. Ayoka took it. Her balance tipped as she rose, the weight of her chains dragging behind her like a second spine. She leaned into Nic's grip — not helpless, just tired in the way drunk girls got when they trusted someone for five minutes longer than they meant to.
Nic guided her across the room toward the bed, careful to keep the iron from tangling.
"Slow down," Nic warned as Ayoka's foot caught on one of the longer loops. "You fall, I leave you there out of principle."
"Wouldn't be the first time I woke up on stone," Ayoka muttered.
Nic gave a short huff — maybe a laugh — and pulled back the coverlet. She helped Ayoka sit, then gave her a firm but not unkind push on the shoulder.
"Lie down before I change my mind and let the walls eat you."
Ayoka flopped back, grinning up at the ceiling. "I like you."
"You shouldn't," Nic said, brushing one of Ayoka's curls back from her face. "I'm not staying."
She stepped away and dusted off her coat just as the portal behind her opened with a soft, reluctant sigh — like even the shadows weren't ready to let her go.
At the threshold, Nic turned and glanced back.
"See you next time."
Ayoka lifted her hand in a lazy thumbs-up. "Bring snacks."
Nic grinned. "Bring fire."
And just like that, she was gone.
Ayoka stayed where she was, her body warm, her mind fogged with liquor, the iron wrapped soft around her wrists like memory. The chains were still there. So was the lock. So was the room.
But for once…
she didn't feel like the only storm in it.