Page 116 of Nocturne

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, “I have water and grape juice.”

Cas nods slightly, distracted by my notebook filled with my research notes. I’m obsessive about keeping my lab spotless—no food or drinks allowed—but Cas is the exception. Always.

Zagan, however, shakes his head, his gaze drifting to Cas, who studies my notes with his usual seriousness. Then, he looks up, his small brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ll need to develop specific antibodies to counter the mutations next, right?” he asks, his tone matter-of-fact.

My breath catches for a moment, as it always does when his brilliance shines through. The way he concentrates, the slight crinkle between his brows—it’s impossible not to reach out and gently pinch his cheek before kissing his temple.

“Yes, my brilliant little scientist,” I reply, my voice full of pride.

He nods, satisfied, and hands me back the notebook. After a moment, he adds with a sly grin, “This is too easy. I’m sticking with physics.”

I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest like he’s mortally wounded me. “You cheeky little runt!”

Cas bursts out laughing, the sound light and unrestrained, before turning his attention to Zagan. To my surprise, he pulls a sandwich from his bag—breaking one of my most sacred lab rules—and tears it in half, offering one piece to Zagan.

Without hesitation, Zagan takes it, his movements so natural it feels as though they’ve done this a hundred times before. That’s ridiculous though. This is the first time they’ve ever met.

My gaze flicks between them, watching as Cas climbs onto the counter with ease. Sitting there, he starts explaining to Zagan why physics—specifically quantum physics—is the most fascinating thing in the universe. He pauses occasionally to throw me a compliment, acknowledging my brilliance in genetics, but insists dark matter is far more spellbinding.

It’s adorable, watching him gesticulate, his tiny hands moving with exaggerated importance. But what truly catches me off guard is Zagan’s response. He listens—intently. There’s no trace of his usual impatience or sharp edges. Thinking back, I’ve never seen him impatient. Angry, broody and downright devilish? Yes. But never impatient.

When Cas struggles to open his water bottle, Zagan unscrews it effortlessly. When the sandwich wrapper becomes a nuisance, Zagan disposes of it without a word.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think they already knew each other. I want to question more about this rapport, but watching Cas open up and converse without having to force him is a miracle in itself. I'm not about to look a gift horse in its mouth.

Their dynamic is unexpectedly seamless, and as I stand there watching, my heart twists. For all of Zagan’s power and danger, he seems... different in this moment. Almost human. Almost safe.

And yet, I can’t shake the unease curling in my chest. Zagan and my son sharing this easy camaraderie—it’s heartwarming, but it’s also terrifying.

Because if Zagan is becoming a part of my life, that means he’s becoming a part ofourlife. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

Thirty-Two

Ara

The thing about getting habituated is that you notice when there’s a deviation. And for an obsessively observant person like me, adjusting to the fact that I had a kinda-sorta stalker who sat in the shadows of my classes, followed me home sometimes, offered me coats when it was chilly, and started to show up at every turn I took, had taken some time. And now that I’m used to his presence in my life, it is not fair for the tyrant to act as if he dropped dead.

It definitely is unfair after the night at his office. So much for his grunts of me being his.

Just to set the record straight, I don’t miss him. I’m just… irked that it’s been eight days, and adjusting to this new shift in my life is uncomfortable. I know he will be strutting back into it soon—once I settle into the latest schedule. But in the moments before that inevitable return, I’m left with a nagging emptiness I refuse to name.

So what does an individual who is whacked in her head, who cannot stop thinking about the orgasms he gave her, and who is a little more than crazy, do in situations like this? I’m not sure about the normal ones out there, but my twisted little head dived into research. I’ve dedicated all my free time to finding everything there is to know about the man and his world. Ivy is helping, but I suspect she’s doing it more for her benefit than mine.

Eight days.

One hundred ninety-two hours.

Despite my ability to skim through tons of documents quickly and even with Ivy’s connections from her reporter days, we’ve only come up with scraps. Scraps that did nothing to satiate my curiosity but instead served as fuel—a thirst I need to quench before I go mad.

There were only fragments. Words mentioned here and there, but nothing in detail. For instance, one of Ivy’s contacts told us that Zagan could be a member of something calledThe Dark Accord. Heaven knows what that means. The man didn’t say anything else; he just dropped that information and vanished.

It’s some sort of council or alliance from the intense dive into confidential documents I made Div dig out for us.

Ivy and I began searching for it and found only the bare minimum. Even those documents—the confidential, government ones which Div refused to dig out at first—did not contain any information to help. I made Div commit a crime for nothing! He’s still pouting because of that.

All there was to find was a small article published in a newspaper decades ago. The publishers retracted those newspapers very soon after their distribution, and the company was promptly shut down a week later.

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