Clara
The familiar sea salt scent hits me a second before I'm face-to-face with a visibly frustrated Alister. His shadow swallows mine as his palms slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in.
"What the heck are you doing here!?" He demands, glaring. Does he have to be this close? Not that I mind...
"Making things easier. You're welcome." I reply with an innocent smile, ignoring the violent flutter in my stomach.
His nostrils flare as he closes his eyes, clearly connecting the dots. "Dammit, Simon…" he mutters before looking back at me. "I don't need your help." He insists, "I've got this under control. You should be at that charity event right now."
I roll my eyes. "Listen, genius," I say, arching a brow. "You tell me what sounds better. Sneaking into a house by yourself, combing through every room for a hidden mirror, all while praying the guy doesn't come back too early—"
"He goes for a walk at 6:30 and comes back forty-five minutes later. On the dot." Alister interrupts flatly, like he's reading from a script.
I raise a finger to his lips, noticing the way he stills under my touch and urging him to shut the hell up.
"Let's say you don't find it in time. Then what? You hide out in the house of a former military man? Someone who sleeps with a loaded gun under his pillow and checks every creak in the floor? Or run and try again tomorrow, wasting precious time?"
"Let me guess," he sighs, dry as sand, as if my presence were the most exhausting inevitability in the world. "You want to tag along because it'll be quicker and two heads are better than one?"
I lift my chin, letting my grin widen. "Add my invisibility to the mix and you have yourself a flawless plan and a partner to help you escape."
I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. He's running through every excuse, every logical rebuttal, but none of them seem to stick.
"What about that event?" he asks finally.
"I'm supposed to be home before 8," I answer, glancing at my watch. "Steph's there too. If anyone notices I'm missing, she'll cover for me."
He raises a brow. "Doesn't sound like you really thought this through. You're just leaving it to luck."
I smirk, leaning closer. Enough to catch the faint hitch in his breath and the way his eyes widen slightly, flickering to my lips before snapping back to lock with mine. "Just admit it," I whisper, close enough that my words ghost across his mouth. "You need me. This task will finish quicker if we're both in it."
He groans in defeat. "Fine," he mutters, stepping back abruptly and finally giving me space to breathe. Not that I was struggling.
He walks toward the steps of a backdoor and settles down on the top stair. "Sit down. I'll tell you the plan."
I comply, walking over and sitting right next to him.
He points to the house further up the street. "As soon as he leaves, Lev will alert us. You'll go and pick the lock. Enter his house and open the window to the kitchen that faces the back alley. I'll enter through there, and we'll begin our search. Since its a double-story house, I'll...you aren't even listening, are you?" He says, making me look up at him.
"I am!"
I was watching his fingers tap on the concrete, next to my hand, and was wondering what would happen if our fingers intertwined.
"Oh really?" His glare intensifies.
"You cover the top floor and I'll cover the bottom. We split up and search for the item. Then get out the same way we came in. Isn't that what you were going to say?"
He rolls his eyes and leans back, propping himself on his elbow against the concrete step as he takes out his phone to track Lev's movements.
I stare at the house, sizing it up. It's modest, the kind of place you'd forget the moment you looked away. Depending on how much stuff he has, it might take a while. We'll have to put everything back exactly the way it was. He may notice if something's off—and while he won't have enough proof to convince the police, it's best not to take chances.
"Has there been anything new other than the nightmares and sleepwalking?" He asks suddenly.
"No. Why?"
I watch the crease form between his brows as he thinks—probably weighing his answer with the knowledge that Leora is always listening. "She's slowly regaining power. While I don't know the extent of what she can do, it's clear she's getting desperate now that we've found a way." His fingers reach out and gently catch a strand of my hair. Twirling it between his fingers absentmindedly. "I can practically feel her plotting something. Other than her insistence on Lev's death."
I tilt my head and smirk. "Tell me, Alister. When did you start thinking with your heart? Or whatever you call that block of ice inside you."
He looks confused, just as I expected. "What?" He suddenly releases my hair like he just realized what he was doing.
I wonder whether I should tell him. How, even though he keeps exploiting and using others, at the same time he looks out for their safety. Making sure they don't know or do anything that might put them in danger. How he tries hard to come up with logical reasons to keep Lev alive. How he once wanted me to fight by his side, and now he's more concerned for my troubles than making things easier for himself.
But I don't say any of that.
"Nothing." I smirk and glance at my watch. It's 6:25 now. "You just seem...softer lately."
His brows shoot up, as if I've slapped him with the word. Then the disbelief hardens into a sharp glare, like I've gravely insulted him.
We sit in silence after that, with him now scowling at nothing.
"Can… I ask you something?" I find myself saying.
"I'd rather you didn't."
I open my mouth to say something—maybe argue, maybe joke—but stop myself. The truth is, I hadn't even thought of a question. I just want to hear him talk about himself. His "no" saves me from having to come up with anything.
But then, without warning, he shifts. Leaning like he's settling into the discomfort rather than backing away from it. "Well? What is it?"
Didn't he just tell me no?
I end up giving an awkward little smile and shaking my head. "Oh, it's nothing." I turn my head away, gaze fixed on the ants circling a dead cockroach.
I feel his fingers grip the top of my head and turn it around until we're eye-to-eye again. His brows are drawn together and lips pressed.
"I'm getting really tired of that word," he says. "Ask whatever you want."
Those are...very dangerous words.
I force myself to look anywhere but his face, clenching my fists as I tear and burn through every inappropriate question flooding my mind. Then, finally, I latch onto the safest one I can find.
"…What was your most satisfying kill?"
We just blink at each other.
Of all the questions. Of all the "safe" options my brain could've scrambled together... that's what my mouth picked?
His lips curl slowly into a grin. He actually chuckles and finally pulls his hand away, shaking his head like I've amused him more than I should've. "Clara, why do you want to know that?"
I simply shurg in response. Waiting to see if he'll dismiss it or actually go into gruesome detail.
He leans forward, resting his arms loosely on his knees. "…There was a woman."
And just like that, I know he's actually going to answer.
"She was the kind that smiled at the neighbors and put ribbons in her daughter's hair when they went to school. One of those people no one looks twice at." His tone turns colder. "I saw her kids locked out in the snow once. Coats missing and shoes soaked. They were maybe six and eight. She'd left them out there all night as punishment."
My breath stills.
"I saw their shivering malnourished bodies and their frozen feet. The way neighbors would often ignore them. How she'd cleverly avoid the social services." His gaze moves down at his shoe. "I drowned her in my bathtub after bringing her to my house. I remember the way she begged me to let her go and that she'll be a better mom to her kids. That she will change."
A longer pause this time. "I made sure to watch closely when she stopped moving. When the water stilled."
My stomach knots. Not in fear, but something heavier. Something that shouldn't feel like understanding. But does.
"I followed the kids afterwards to see on whose wretched hands they'd end up in, so I can do some more murdering. They got to live with their nice relative in another town and were fine there, unfortunately."
He falls silent and watches me out of the corner of his eye like he's waiting for me to recoil.
But I simply give him a sly smile. "You cared about those kids so much," I begin gently. "that you followed them to another town just to make sure they didn't end up in the wrong hands again?"
His head snaps toward me, the lines in his brow deepening before he exhales sharply through his nose. "That's not it. You're focusing on the wrong thing. I didn't drown her to save those kids, Clara. I drowned her because she deserved to die. I followed those kids in case I had to kill again. That's what I do."
I lower my gaze and fidget with my thumbnail. "You're not just a killer," I murmur. "Sure, you didn't need to do any murdering, but...you made sure those kids were safe. You didn't have to. But you still did."
He grunts and leans back on the steps. He tips his head back, throat bare, and sighs. "You're making me want to kill myself."
I laugh as I watch his eyes close in annoyance. "Aww, don't do that. I'll be very sad. And as revenge, I'll make sure your tombstone is pink and plant the prettiest flowers on your grave. I'll even gather everyone to have a party."
His mouth curls into that genuine smile I drink in like a starved thing. "You're evil incarnate."
I stare, unable to look away. My gaze drifts over the stubborn line of his jaw, the lashes fanning shadows across his cheek, the slight twitch of his mouth as if he can't quite let go of control even in rest.
There's a line between us. One we never talk about but both of us feel. The invisible border where glances last too long and words cut too close. One he drew for everyone. A rule he built with careful hands, teaching himself that attachments are weakness, that care is danger, that letting anyone in is a risk he can't afford. And somehow, against my better judgment, I've found myself at the edge of it.
I lean closer to his face, carefully holding my breath as though even the air might give me away.
If I crossed it—just once—what would happen? Would he flinch, shove me back into the place he's carved out for me, cold and distant? Or would he let me?
"You came!"
The sharpness of Lev's voice cuts through like a blade, and my body reacts instinctively. Alister's eyes snap open, startled, and I jerk back so violently that I slip off the step I'd been sitting on.
My heart races, hammering not just from the fall but from what I almost let myself do.
Lev lands next to me. "I knew you'd barge in." He says cheerfully.
I smile and reach out, letting him bump his head against my knuckles. He then shifts his attention to Alister, who stands up. "Glasses, he's leaving now."
I suddenly feel his hands grab my waist and effortlessly lift me up to my feet. I stumble just a fraction as my legs adjust, ignoring the shock running through me like static brushing across skin. "What about the other things?" He asks nonchalantly.
"Well...That guy, George, is still keeping an eye on that fortune teller shop. No suspicious customers were spotted anywhere near the area. Crazy is at the party. Smiles and pretty eyes are at home. No one's following them." Lev explains.
I see. So he has a lookout at Madam Reeze too. Makes sense. They do have the book. They also don't seem to be aware of the hunters. If they come in contact, those two might sell us out and join them.
"Send two to where Steph is. Just two. If anyone asks about Clara, make the crows bother them a little until their attention is diverted." Alister says and texts Steph.
I frown. If he could have done that, then why did he insist on me not coming?
We walk ahead and peer around the corner to see a big muscular man with grey hair, wearing a moss green T-shirt that stretches uncomfortably, making it look a size smaller. Cargo pants with tons of pockets and worn combat boots that look like they've been through a lot. He locks the door and walks away down the street.
"Even his face looks depressing." I mumble. His face is weathered, with a map of wrinkles and creases that speak to a life of hardship and struggle. "That's what you'd look like in the future if you don't smile often."
Alister watches as the man is about to turn a corner. "Ok, now activate your ability. Our 45 minutes start now."
I close my eyes, concentrating on calming my mind and activating my ability.
"Lev, keep a lookout. And alert us through the windows. This is your last chance to win back my trust." He orders Lev, who simply nods and flies away.
I walk out of the alley, heading straight to the house. It feels odd. There are a few people in the street yet, no one sees me kneeling infront of the door and picking the lock with a bobby pin.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the lock clicks open. I pause, looking around once more to make sure the coast is clear before entering the house.
I turn on the lights. The air inside smells like cigarette smoke. I inhale deeply, letting the scent settle in my lungs like a memory I've missed. As soon as I spot the kitchen, I hurry towards the window, unlocking it and pushing it open.
Alister appears from the corner, and he wastes no time climbing inside the house. "You can stop being invisible now," he says.
Maintaining the invisibility is exhausting, like trying to run while carrying a heavy object. The longer I hold onto it, the more breathless I become. As I drop the ability, I feel a sense of my energy returning.
Alister rushes out of the kitchen, making his way to the upper floor, and I'm left standing here, looking around.
It's... neat. Just as I thought.
The counters gleam under the light, not a crumb or speck of dust in sight. A dish towel hangs perfectly aligned on the oven handle. A small, white bowl on the table holds a few fresh lemons, their placement looking almost staged.
I notice four different colored dog bowls on the counter, filled with what smells like leftover chicken.
I didn't know he kept dogs. I certainly didn't see any on my way here. Maybe they're upstairs.
I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room, my eyes scanning the space briefly.
The room looks too... public. I don't think he'd have placed an artifact in a room where guests might see it. There's a massive photograph hanging over the fireplace. It's of him and his wife.
But it's not the man I've seen so far. The one with the rugged, weathered face and the air of quiet sadness. This man is different. He's happier, younger, and radiates a sense of joy. He's standing with his arm around his wife, with a look of deep affection and adoration. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, and his smile is wide and genuine.
His wife, on the other hand, seems more timid. She's standing beside him, and her face is turned towards the camera with a calm, serene expression. Her smile is more subdued, but there's a sense of tranquility about her that's palpable.
A tragic life. Now I'm starting to get sad.
My gaze shifts to the bedroom on my left. A more likely candidate.
I push open the door and step inside, flipping the light switch to illuminate the space. The room is small, with a single neat bed tucked against one wall. A dresser stands opposite it, and a wooden wardrobe looms in the corner. A shelf occupies the remaining wall, consisting of knickknacks and old books.
Must be a guestroom.
I begin my search, starting with the dresser drawers. When I find nothing out of the ordinary, I move on to the wardrobe, opening the doors to reveal a collection of shirts, pants, and jackets.
Odd, all these seem like women's clothes. Were they his wife's? Did he move them here from the master bedroom?
A shiver runs down my spine as I hold onto a shirt that seems...much smaller than the rest.
Something's...not right.
I put everything back and continue my search. This time, moving quickly, looking through the shelves and under the bed, feeling along the edges and in the corners, but there's no sign of the hand mirror.
I press along the paneling, knocking softly, and listening for hollow spaces. But no matter where I look, I come up empty-handed.
A loud thud from above almost makes me jump out of my skin.
"I'm going into the attic!" I hear Alister call out. I check the time, and it's been 28 minutes.
I shake my head, ignoring the unease, and walk into what looks like a laundry room. As I step inside, I'm immediately hit with the familiar scent of detergent and fabric softener. I turn to the next door, the one that's already cracked open. A bathroom. Clean and tidy.
I glance around the living room again and walk to another door. I reach for the knob, but it's locked.
Swallowing hard, I try to silence the warning bells in my head. I take out my trusty bobby pin and begin to work on the lock. Sweat beads on my forehead as I concentrate. After it unlocks, I push it open.
"I found it!" I hear Alister call from above. But I'm too stunned and frozen in fear to do anything as the door opens completely.
The first thing that reaches me from the darkness below is the sound of moaning. And the smell of filth.
Turn back. Don't get involved. Don't turn on the lights. Don't feel anything. Run away. You finally have what you needed. Just turn around and leave.
But my fingers are already on the switch, and I turn it on. I resist the urge to throw up as I look down at the dimly lit basement.
My eyes are drawn to the four women, each confined to a massive cage that looks like it was designed for wild animals. The cages are easily big enough to fit a grown man, with thick, iron bars.
Each woman is severely bruised, with dark, purple marks covering their faces, arms, and legs. Their clothes are tattered and torn, hanging off their bodies like rags. Their hands and feet are handcuffed, securing them to the bars of the cage. Their mouths are gagged with thick, white cloth, silencing their cries for help.
Our eyes meet, and theirs widen in a mixture of surprise and desperation. They moan louder, the sound muffled by the gags, but their eyes scream for help. Pleading for rescue, for freedom. As they move, their handcuffed hands and feet rattle against the bars of the cage, the sound echoing through the basement.
I look at one, a blonde woman with a series of nasty cuts on her arm, as she stares back at me with a vacant expression. Like she's given up all hope. Her eyes seem dull lifeless and my heart drops as I realize she doesn't have much time.
I take a step forward and then another before I feel someone grab my arm from behind, almost causing me to fall down the steps. I look back, and I see Alister with a shocked look on his face, pupils dilated. He seems horrified at this too.
So when he tugs my arm a little. "We should get out of here."
I'm beyond mortified. I forcefully pull away from his grip, staring at him with disgust. "You can't be serious!?"
"I meant..." he begins, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself down, as he raises his hands in defense. "We should get out of here first before he comes back. If we call the police, then they'll catch him in the act."
I look down at the women as they keep moaning for help. He's right. We should get out of here first.
And all of a sudden, we hear the door to the house open.
In that instant, my mind flashes back to the photograph in the living room. I reimagine the wife's expression that I had initially thought was calm and serene.
How her eyes stared at the camera. With a look that screams 'Help'