Page 71 of My Bloody Valentine

“Together,” I echo, a promise and a plea. “Always.”

30

ADRIAN

Maya’s delicate fingers trace over my handwritten notes, each page a testament to my artistry. The leather binding creaks as she turns another page, her eyes widening at the detailed entries.

“Your documentation is... thorough,” she whispers, lingering over a particularly vivid description.

“Every ingredient must be cataloged precisely. The emotional resonance varies based on countless factors.” I step closer, inhaling her jasmine perfume. “Your gift could revolutionize my process.”

Maya turns to face me, her expression serious. “I need to know we’ll be selective. Reynolds was a monster who destroyed careers and lives, but there are worse people out there.”

“What did you have in mind?”

She pulls out her phone, showing me a series of news articles. “I’ve noticed a pattern in the restaurant industry. Staff disappearing without a trace, especially from high-end establishments. My sources say there’s an organized trafficking ring operating through these restaurants.”

My pulse accelerates in response to her words. “Human traffickers using fine dining as cover?”

“They target vulnerable workers— immigrants, students, people who won’t be missed.” Maya’s voice hardens. “They’re parasites preying on the innocent.”

I study her face, seeing the same righteous fury that drives my work. “Hunting true monsters instead of mere hollow ones. The emotional depth would be...” I trail off, imagining the possibilities.

“Extraordinary,” Maya finishes. “And we’d be cleaning up the industry, making it safer.”

“You’ve given this thought.” I trace my finger down her arm. “Predator hunting predator.”

“We could do real good, Adrian. Channel this into something meaningful.”

Her suggestion stirs something in me. The prospect of targeting those who truly deserve our attention and traffic in human misery is intoxicating.

“No innocent victims,” Maya states firmly, her eyes locked with mine. “And no service workers unless they abuse their position of power.”

I nod, studying the determined set of her jaw. “And in return?”

“I’ll help perfect your process. My ability could revolutionize your work.” She places her hand over mine.

The possibilities unfold before me. “Your gift would eliminate the guesswork. Each piece could be...”

“Precise. Purposeful.” Maya retrieves the small vial of blood from my earlier collection. “Let me show you.”

In my kitchen, she watches as I temper the chocolate, adding the preserved essence at crucial moments. Her fingers brush mine as she adjusts the measurements.

“More here,” she murmurs, guiding my hand.

I fold the mixture, incorporating air and emotion in equal measure. The ganache takes shape under our combined efforts, glossy and dark as night.

Maya closes her eyes as she tastes the first sample, her expression transforming. “There’s justice in this one. Righteousness.” Her tongue darts out to catch a stray drop. “But also... satisfaction. Like karma made manifest.”

“The hollow one who provided this deserved his fate,” I explain. “A hedge fund manager who drove families to ruin for sport.”

“I can taste his fear.” She opens her eyes, and I see my own darkness reflected there. “This is what your work has been missing. Context. Purpose.”

The ganache sets with a perfect sheen, carrying the essence of retribution. Maya’s gift has elevated my craft beyond anything I could have imagined.

I slide the freshly made truffle into the temperature-controlled cabinet. “It needs time to develop its full character.”

I select an earlier creation from my private collection and hold the sphere between my fingers. The shell gleams with a perfect sheen and contains drops of my blood.

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