Dante gently ran his fingers through Helios' tousled black hair. They lay together on the bed, Helios nestled tightly against his chest, fast asleep, safe in Dante's arms. At some point, Dante had managed to coax him into taking a shower – they had both been covered in blood, a harsh, almost surreal contrast to Helios' alabaster-white skin.
With the dark bruises around his neck, he had looked truly grotesque.
Dante closed his eyes for a moment. He could still feel the knife, the way it had pierced through skin and muscle, straight into his heart. It hadn't just been pain – it was more like a paralyzing, claustrophobic pull, as if something cold had taken hold inside his chest. The damn poison had delayed his healing, left him powerless while the pain overwhelmed him. The stab wounds themselves had healed quickly enough. The only nuisance was the blood that kept pooling in his lungs, forcing him to cough it up again and again until there was nothing left and his lungs were clean again.
He had suffered plenty of injuries to the chest before. But this… no, no one had ever hurt him quite like that. Not physically – and certainly not emotionally. Helios had attacked him with a look in his eyes Dante had never believed him capable of: pure madness, rage, despair. It had been terrifying.
And yet – somehow heartbreakingly understandable.
Helios had been beside himself, completely consumed by the loss. The death of his best friend had hit him with a force that even Dante hadn't expected. Especially considering how he'd received the news – cold, random, spat out like venom. Mr. Sinclair had pushed Helios away with such cruelty that it had hurt just to watch.
Still, as understandable as Helios' pain had been – his reaction had been anything but normal.
Dante understood him. And at the same time, he didn't.
Penelope's death had affected him too. He'd liked her – smart, beautiful, strong. A woman who left an impression, even if you only met her briefly. During the weeks Helios had been bedridden with his gunshot wound, Dante and Penelope had formed a bond – almost like comrades.
She hadn't been just anyone. He missed her too.
But more than anything, his concern was for Helios. He looked more than ever like a lost child, stranded in an ocean of grief. He had only ever had Davis and Penelope as real friends – and now... no one. Only Dante was left.
No one should have to go through that alone.
Dante pulled Helios even closer, resting his chin gently atop his head.
He didn't want to see him like this. Of course he was angry at Helios – for killing him again, without warning. Of course it hadn't had any lasting consequences for Dante's body. Death was only temporary for him. At least on the outside.
But the process of dying... was still painful. And it could never simply be dismissed as "unpleasant."
The pain he endured each time was still raw and brutally unpleasant. Nothing about it was dulled. He doubted he would ever get used to it. Though his mind had reached a point where the idea of death itself had become almost meaningless to him.
Still, that didn't change the fact that Dante felt betrayed every single time Helios snuffed out his light — as if a part of him had been extinguished along with it. And yet... that sense of betrayal always faded faster than it should have. He was angry, yes. Hurt. But the anger never lasted long. Because he had fallen in love with Helios. Deeply. Irrevocably. And that made it impossible to truly hold it against him. There was no logic that could override those feelings. No defense against them.
Dante knew: he would always come back to him. His body would regenerate, again and again, no matter how many times Helios drove a blade through his heart. He would keep healing until the day Helios found a way to make him mortal again.
He looked down at the sleeping face of the young man clinging to him as if his life depended on it. Helios was pale, his eyelids red and puffy from crying. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his features — that deep, consuming kind that Dante had seen more than once, especially after long days and sleepless nights spent buried in his laboratory. One hand was still tightly fisted in the fabric of Dante's wrinkled T-shirt, holding on even in sleep.
Gently, Dante ran his fingers once more through Helios' unruly black hair, soft and stubborn in every direction.
No matter how much the knife wounds had hurt — he would stay. For him. Even if Helios didn't love him in the same way. Maybe he never would.
Dante wasn't entirely sure of his own feelings yet. Everything about them felt new. Disorienting. Frightening. Not because of Helios — but because of himself. Because of what he was. Who he was. He wasn't even sure if he had the right to love someone, when he himself was immortal while the other could die any moment.
And still, there was no more room for doubt: he wanted him. Completely. There was no escaping that truth.
He wanted Helios by his side — with everything that came with him. The madness, the darkness, the pain. And if that meant Helios might occasionally kill him… so be it. He would accept it. By now he had the feeling that Helios killed him with joy, not only to do some immortality research.
Strange, what love could make you endure.
For a brief moment, he wondered if he was slowly going insane. But he wasn't normal. He was immortal. Was it really so far-fetched that he accepted everything that came with Helios so easily? Or that his own death no longer mattered to him? No matter how many times he died, no matter how much it hurt?
After all, for him, dying was mostly just an inconvenience. Nothing more.
All that truly mattered to him... was that Helios didn't get hurt while he was dead and his cells needed the time to recover.
Dante exhaled quietly, the sound barely more than a whisper in the dim half-light. Maybe he really was hopelessly lost. But then his gaze drifted down to Helios, to his fragile, peaceful face—and he knew, deep down, that it was still worth it.
As his fingers absentmindedly stroked Helios' hair, his thoughts wandered to Soley. For the past two days, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the facility—and how they were supposed to get inside. It wouldn't be easy. Without a solid plan, it would be suicide.
And then there was Spider.
Dante still wasn't sure whether this allegedly skilled assassin was truly the key to their success. Why should one man be more effective than he was?
Sure, the guy probably had experience. Maybe he was faster, trickier, more ruthless. But why would an assassin be better at getting past armed guards in an exposed corridor than Dante? Okay, maybe Spider had a few advantages—lean, muscular, possibly quick. But Dante wasn't exactly slow. And more importantly—he was immortal.
He had the skills, the endurance, the strength to carve his way through if necessary. He didn't doubt his own capabilities.
What did worry him was something else entirely: If the facility found out what he really was, there was a chance they wouldn't let him leave. Not alive. Not dead either.
He pushed the thought aside and tried to recall what Spider even looked like. Surprisingly, it was hard.
That night in the alley had been pitch dark, and Spider had dark skin—something that had made it even harder for Dante to make out his features. All he remembered was a shadowy silhouette… and the amused tone of a deep, resonant voice.
Helios hadn't been thrilled about bringing Spider on board either. Understandable. After what had happened to Davis, Dante himself had little desire to work with the man.
Davis' death still hung over everything like a heavy, suffocating cloud—unresolved, unspoken, painful. The idea of teaming up with the person who had let him die tasted bitter in his mouth.
Given the choice, Dante would've preferred to take on the whole thing with Helios alone. But if he died again... Helios would be defenseless. With Spider, there was at least a sliver of a chance that Helios would survive.
They needed to make sure Helios stayed out of range—no direct combat, no hostage risks, nothing that would put him in immediate danger. Ideally, he would trail behind at a safe distance, close enough to help if needed, but far enough not to be targeted.
Without Spider, they wouldn't make it far.
Without Helios, they wouldn't find the right files.
Leaving Helios behind wasn't an option either. But the thought of dragging him into what was essentially a suicide mission was enough to make Dante's stomach turn.
He hoped they'd return to Soley soon. But that decision lay with Helios.
Dante didn't even know if they'd be allowed to attend Penelope's funeral. He had no idea how long Helios would need to process her death. And that was something no plan in the world could rush.
They also couldn't predict whether Spider would actually agree to accompany them—and even if he did, when was still entirely up in the air. Dante doubted Spider would simply say yes and be ready to leave the next day.
Would they confront Belladonna before the second mission? Or only after returning from Soley?
If it were up to Dante, he'd prefer to deal with Belladonna after they came back from Soley. If everything that could go wrong did go wrong, Belladonna might very well kill Helios before he even had the chance to take his revenge.
And besides… Dante still didn't know what he would do if it turned out Helios' father really was behind everything.
He let out a quiet sigh and closed his eyes.
They had so much left to do.
___
The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, tickling Dante's eyelids. Grudgingly, he squinted against the brightness, blinking a few times as he forced himself to wake up. It was high time he got his completely derailed sleep schedule back on track.
But something felt... off.
Still half-asleep, he reached out to the other side of the bed—cold. When he opened his eyes fully, the feeling was confirmed: the space next to him was empty.
Helios was already up. Unusual. Normally, he slept like a rock, far longer than Dante, and waking him was no easy feat.
Dante sat up. The bathroom door was ajar, but no light was on inside. A bad feeling twisted in his gut. His gaze scanned the hotel room—dry bloodstains from the night before still darkening the carpet. He cursed under his breath.
He threw off the covers and got up quickly. He needed to get dressed and find Helios before he did something reckless. Panic clutched his chest. Why the hell had he left without him?
He knew he wasn't supposed to go out alone—
"What bit you that you're jumping out of bed like that?" came Helios' voice suddenly—rough, tired.
Dante spun around.
Helios was sitting in the armchair by the window, illuminated by the morning light streaming through the parted curtains. A mug of steaming coffee rested in his hand.
Dante let out a sharp exhale, tension draining from his body so fast it almost hurt. With a sheepish smile, he rubbed the back of his neck.
"I thought you'd gone out alone," Dante admitted.
Helios tilted his head to the side, his gaze drifting out the window toward the waking day.
"I thought about it," he said quietly. "I want to see her one last time… before I lose the chance forever."
"If you want to go, I'll go with you."
Helios let out a soft, broken-sounding chuckle. He shook his head, then he looked down at a photo in his hand — the one Penelope had taken of the two of them before they'd left for Soley.
"It's a shame the only photo I have of Penny is one where she looks like me," he murmured.
He rubbed his face sluggishly and sniffled, then turned his tired eyes back to Dante.
"We should get going. There's enough to do as it is, and Penny really doesn't deserve for me to ruin her final farewell."
"We could take one more day to rest," Dante offered carefully.
Helios looked utterly drained, and Dante hated the thought of dragging him home today — back to his father, back to pressure and responsibility. He was pale, his eyes swollen from crying, the skin around them raw. Even though he'd fallen asleep in Dante's arms the night before, it didn't look like he'd rested much.
Helios shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "There's work waiting for me back home. I need to contact Spider and deal with the mess Theo's probably left behind. And we still need a plan for Soley."
"Alright," Dante said with a nod. Then, more cautiously, "What about Belladonna?"
Helios' expression hardened in an instant. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by a cold, unflinching look. "Soley first. Then Belladonna," he said flatly. "The bastard's not going anywhere." A shadow passed over his features. "Even though I want him dead, I don't think I'm in the right state to do it right now."
Helios raised his trembling hand and stared at it before letting it fall back onto his stomach. It hurt to see him like this. Dante's chest tightened painfully.
He exhaled slowly. For Dante, it was a relief to hear. He didn't want Helios to go into battle hollowed out and broken.
"He'll pay for what he's done," Dante promised.
Helios rose from the armchair, his movements hesitant. He looked at Dante as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. He just stood there, clearly struggling to voice what was on the tip of his tongue.
Dante waited, giving him space.
Helios looked a little lost, and all Dante wanted in that moment was to pull him into his arms again. But he knew better. Helios wasn't the kind of person who easily accepted touch. The only times he'd allowed it before had been moments of deep emotional pain — not of comfort, not of intimacy.
And Helios had made it clear that he didn't want anything physical from him. Still, Dante couldn't shake the question lingering in the back of his mind — had nothing happened that night simply because Helios was still haunted by Davis? Or was Helios simply not interested in him at all? Would he have had a chance if he weren't living in Davis's shadow?
Helios cleared his throat. "Thank you," he mumbled at last, "for being there for me yesterday." He turned his gaze away, voice so quiet Dante could barely make out the words.
Dante looked at the younger man in surprise. A "thank you" from Helios was rare—and this one sounded like it truly came from the heart. Still, Helios didn't meet his gaze.
"Of course I'm here for you," Dante said gently, trying to encourage him. Then, in a quieter voice, he added, "I won't leave you, Helios. Not as long as I live."
He meant every word. And yet… the moment it left his mouth, he realized his mistake.
Helios looked up. His eyes were glistening—and not because of the light. He bit his lip, a faint tremble running through his body. Quickly, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, but it was already too late. A single tear had escaped.
"Idiot," Helios said hoarsely, his voice cracking. "I'll never live as long as you." A broken sob slipped from his lips. "Goddamn it," he whispered, and again the tears began to fall freely.
Dante cursed himself silently for his poor choice of words.
Without thinking further, he closed the distance between them in a few quick steps and gently pulled Helios into his arms. Helios didn't hesitate for even a second. He clung to Dante, pressed himself tightly against his chest, and buried his face in the fabric of his shirt. His tears soaked through the cloth, and Dante could feel the tremors running through his narrow frame.
"Just give me a minute," Helios whispered through sobs. "I'll be fine soon… I'll be myself again…"
Dante stroked the back of his head softly, letting his fingers move through the messy black hair—just as he had the night before.
"You don't have to be strong. Not now," he murmured. "Take all the time you need."
Helios' slender body trembled in his arms. Dante could hear the muffled sobs, could feel how tightly he held on. So he held him. Held him as if his embrace could somehow keep the world at bay. Hoping that this quiet closeness might be enough to calm Helios, to help him breathe again—to trust him.
Dante wanted to be there for him. Even if, in Soley, they found the very thing he had been searching for ever since his transformation. Even if they managed to kill Belladonna. Even if Helios found a way to make Dante mortal again.
Until his very last breath— Dante wanted to stay by Helios' side.
___
Dante guided the car slowly along the well-kept gravel drive and parked in the courtyard in front of the Vale estate. The grand building loomed above them—sleek, cold, and precise, just like everything associated with Aeternum Pharmaceuticals. Two figures were already waiting on the steps: Vale, wearing his usual broad, almost smug grin, and Thomas, the elderly butler, whose gentle smile was laced with deep sorrow.
So they already knew about Penelope's death.
Dante wasn't surprised that Vale seemed utterly unfazed by the news. He cast a quick glance at Helios, who was sitting beside him, his hand clenched into a fist. He still looked shaken. He had done his best to pull himself together, but it couldn't hide the exhaustion that clung to him. They had even visited a makeup artist—someone who, like Thomas, knew how to skillfully conceal Helios' injuries when necessary. Now, at least, he looked presentable. Not devastated—just tired.
And that, Dante thought, was probably the best they could manage today.
Dante was always fascinated by how easily subtle makeup could conceal wounds and imperfections. The makeup artist had done such meticulous work that it looked as though Helios had simply put on a new layer of skin. If you didn't know what to look for, you'd never notice a thing.
The scarf had become unnecessary.
"Let's get this over with," Helios said in his typically unimpressed tone.
He opened the car door and stepped out, putting on a content expression—exactly what one would expect from someone returning from a pleasant vacation. It was as if Helios had slipped into a mask, the one he wore for those who expected the perfect heir of Aeternum Pharmaceuticals.
"Helios!" Vale called out enthusiastically as he hurried down the steps and pulled his son into an embrace. "You were gone longer than expected!"
Helios stiffened briefly before returning the hug and then firmly pushing his father away.
"There was a lot to see," Helios said with a practised smile.
Vale laughed and threw an arm around his son's shoulders, leading him into the estate as though proudly presenting him to the world.
"I want to hear everything! Where you went, what you saw, what you ate!"
Dante silently wished Helios good luck. There was nothing he could do but watch as Helios was swept away. And he had no illusions—Helios wasn't getting out of that conversation anytime soon.
A few guards followed them into the building.
Before they'd arrived, Helios had told Dante to rest, and that they'd see each other later. Dante, in turn, had decided to find Maxwell and squeeze in some training. Aside from his usual morning exercises, he hadn't had a proper workout in a while—and he missed moving that way, missed feeling his body in motion.
"Hello, Dante," Thomas greeted him warmly.
Dante offered the old butler a tired smile. "Hello, Thomas."
"How was your trip?"
"There was a lot to see," Dante replied, repeating Helios' words. They had agreed on what to say during the drive here—matching stories, well-rehearsed. "We went just about everywhere, visited a lot of cities, tried a few delicacies."
"I'm glad you both made it back safely," Thomas said as they entered the estate together, and Dante followed Thomas through the tall hallways and into the kitchen. The old butler immediately began making coffee—a task he performed with such quiet confidence and ease that it was almost soothing to watch.
The rich scent of freshly ground beans filled the room, wrapping around Dante like something that almost felt like home. No coffee on their trip had come close to Thomas's—not in taste, and not in the sense of calm this place carried.
He sank onto one of the padded kitchen chairs while Thomas, without a word, prepared the cups. Dante hadn't been here all that long, but in the few months he'd spent at Helios' side, it felt as though more had happened than usually would in several years.
And strangely enough, he did feel comfortable here. At home, in a way.
Ever since Helios had learned about his immortality, the weight of having to constantly pretend had lifted from Dante's shoulders. It had been liberating—finally being able to share his secret.
That didn't mean he trusted Vale. Far from it. To Dante, Vale was still the root of all evil—he just hadn't found the proof yet. The thirst for revenge remained strong.
But despite that, he'd grown genuinely fond of a few people here. Most of all, Helios. Then Davis, whose loss still stung in quiet, unexpected moments. Now only Thomas remained—the old butler—and Maxwell, the gruff but loyal guard. He got along well enough with the other guards, but none of them had formed a deeper connection with him.
Thomas placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and sat down across the table. His expression was serious, his eyes observant.
"You didn't get into any trouble, I hope?" he asked quietly. "We heard so little from you... I was worried. Especially after what happened to Lady Penelope."
"When did she pass?" Dante asked. "We were there just yesterday, but no one told us exactly when it happened."
Thomas let out a heavy sigh. "Three days ago." He took a sip from his own cup, set it down gently, and looked at Dante intently—his gaze steady, almost fatherly in its concern. Finally, he exhaled in quiet relief. "You don't look like you were injured."
Dante shook his head slightly. "We were attacked, but we got out of it in one piece. We were lucky."
"Did Helios get hurt?" Thomas asked, his concern deepening.
Dante nodded. "He was strangled by one of the attackers—the marks are, unfortunately, all too visible on his pale skin."
Helios had given Dante permission to speak to Thomas about it—after all, the old man would be helping him again in the mornings starting the next day, making sure he looked presentable.
Thomas's face lost some of its color. His eyes widened in shock. An unspoken question hovered in his gaze.
"We suspect it was the same people who killed Penelope," Dante replied.
The old butler lowered his gaze to his cup. In that moment, he no longer looked like the unshakable man who kept the entire household running. He just looked... tired. His expression was deeply sorrowful, and he suddenly seemed older than he was.
"How did he take it?" Thomas asked at last.
"Not well," Dante sighed. "Penelope's father was beside himself. He blames Helios for what happened."
Thomas looked up again, fixing Dante with a long, steady gaze. His face remained composed, but in his eyes was something that gave Dante pause—an intense mix of concern, resolve, and something that almost resembled desperate hope.
"You need to take care of yourself, Dante," he said quietly but firmly. "If something happens to you too... then Helios will have no one left. No one he could truly call a friend."
"He still has you," Dante replied calmly. "He's not alone."
Thomas gave a sad smile—one that said more than words ever could. "I'm an old man, Dante. Who knows how much longer I'll be around?" He gave a short, hollow chuckle. "God… it's hard, watching so many young people die while I—an old man—keep outliving them all..."
He tried to sound lighthearted, but the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.
Dante returned the smile faintly. Even without Thomas' plea, he had never intended to leave Helios alone. Not as long as he could help it. Not as long as his heart still beat—no matter how many times it stopped in between.
"Don't worry," he said gently. "I'm not planning to leave him behind."
Thomas looked at him for a long moment, as if committing the promise to memory in Dante's expression. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"I truly hope so," he said. Then a softer smile crept into his features. "Now... how about you tell me about your 'vacation'?"
"I hope you've got a little time to spare."
"For a good story? I always have time," the old man replied.
And so, Dante began to tell him the story he and Helios had rehearsed.