Continue from pervious chapter...
The creature spasmed. Shuddered. Fell still.
The another one paused, eyes calculating. Smarter than the others. It hissed something in a guttural language I didn't understand, words slick like oil.
The man raised one hand, fingers splayed. The air bent—rushed—and a gust of ice-wind slammed the thief against the far wall. I heard bones break. Heard the silence that followed.
And then… stillness.
Not peace.
Stillness.
The kind that follows ruin.
He didn't kill them all. Not technically. But he might as well have. Bones cracked beneath his precise, almost lazy strikes—a wrist here, a kneecap there. Blood painted the alley walls in long, artless strokes. Like someone had tried to paint sorrow and rage with a broken brush.
The last man bolted, tripping over his own fear.
He let him go, like he always had better things to do than chase vermin.
I stood frozen, chest heaving, my ribs screaming with each breath. My fingers twitched at my sides, still curled like they were holding my violin bow.
I wiped blood from my cheek. My skin stung. My pride stung more.
"What the hell was that?" I choked out.
He turned slowly, the shadows peeling back from his face like reluctant curtains. His eyes glowed faintly like coals buried under ash.
"A favor," he said simply, " I'm Julian."
"I didn't ask for one."
"You didn't have to."
I let out a breath that sounded like a laugh but tasted like bile. "Oh, I get it now. You're one of those pretty-boy fangs with a hero complex. Swoop in, save the starving musician, collect your moral brownie points. Well done. Where's my trophy?"
I expected a smirk. A retort. Maybe even a flash of fangs. But he just… studied me. Like I was a puzzle someone had started and never finished.
Then he said, almost to himself, "You play well."
I stiffened. "You followed me?"
"I followed the music."
The hairs on my neck rose. My fingers curled tighter around my violin case. "Yeah, well… the concert's over. Thanks for the save, but I don't do encores."
I shoved past him. My legs wanted to run. My body wanted to collapse.
Then—
Drip.
A soft sound. Almost lost in the stillness. But I heard it.
A drop of blood hit the cobblestones.
Julian's blood.
I shouldn't have cared. I didn't even notice him get hurt. But the moment it landed, the violin case against my hip hummed.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally.
I froze.
The case vibrated, like it was responding to a tuning fork only it could hear. It was warm. Unnaturally warm.
I snapped it open, dread crawling up my spine like cold fingers.
The black pearl was gone.
In its place, a single drop of blood had soaked into the varnished wood. Still glowing. Just faintly. Like the last ember in a dying fire.
The strings trembled. No bow. No fingers. Just movement.
My throat dried out. "What the hell is this?"
Julian stepped closer. His voice was lower now. Like the space between us demanded reverence.
"A question."
"I don't like riddles," I muttered.
"Then come with me," he said. "Find the answer."
Everything in me recoiled. My pride. My stubbornness. My fear. All screaming no.
But my exhaustion whispered yes.
I hadn't had a bed in weeks. A real meal in days. I hadn't even felt safe in… God, I couldn't remember.
And the violin hummed again, soft, expectant.
I gritted my teeth. "Fine. But I'm not your damn charity case."
Julian's lips curved. Not a smirk. Not quite. Something smaller. Quieter.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.
***
I woke in a bed softer than anything I'd ever known. Like sinking into warm clouds stitched from silk and silence.
For one blissful moment, I let myself float there. No hunger. No fear. No alleyway ghosts dragging blood across cobblestones. Just breath, slow and easy.
But reality is always impatient.
I opened my eyes. The room unfurled around me in hushed grandeur: vaulted ceilings arched like cathedral wings, dark wood panels glinting under the faint sheen of oil polish, and curtains so thick they strangled the sunlight.
Julian's mansion.
The thought slammed into my chest like a stone.
I sat up too fast. My ribs protested with a sharp stab, but I didn't care. My eyes found it immediately, lying beside me on the mattress like a loyal dog. My violin.
It was glowing.
Faint, yes. But undeniably glowing. A flickering, ember-like pulse shimmered across the varnished wood, catching in the curves and hollows like firelight cradled in glass.
For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
I reached for it—
"Don't."
The word sliced through the quiet like a blade.
I turned. Julian stood in the doorway, framed in shadow. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. There was something coiled in his posture, like restraint wrapped in velvet.
My hand hovered inches above the violin. "What did you do to it?"
"Nothing." He stepped into the room, each footfall soundless on the thick rug. "That was all you."
I let out a dry laugh, the sound catching in my throat like static. "Bullshit. I don't do magic."
He didn't flinch. Just tilted his head slightly, eyes drifting down to the violin. "Maybe it does you."
My skin prickled.
I looked again. The glow was steadier now, pulsing gently. Not frantic. Not bright. Just… constant. Measured. Like a breath.
Like a heartbeat.
Like my heartbeat.
I pressed a hand to my chest, suddenly aware of its rhythm. The violin's glow matched it, second for second.
Julian watched me with that same stillness, like he stood on the edge of a cliff and wasn't sure if he should step off or turn away. His expression wasn't cold, but it was far from warm. It was something else. Something closer to reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.
I swallowed hard. "What happens now?"
He didn't move. Just looked at me like the weight of the answer was heavier than he wanted to admit.
"That," Julian said quietly, "depends on you."