Page 120 of Nocturne

I glance at him, my eyebrows lifting in surprise. “And Zagan was accepted? Just like that?”

Yuri turns to me, his eyes glinting with a sharp pride that only comes from absolute loyalty. “They figured they’d be better off with him as an ally than as an enemy.”

I nod slowly, processing that. Zagan has always carried an aura of power—it practically seeps out of him—but even so, I’ve never fully grasped the depths of his influence. Not really. Even now, I’m certain there’s so much more to him than I understand. That thought should scare me. It would, under normal circumstances. Yet, strangely, it doesn’t.

“Did he always plan to become who he is now?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Yuri’s lips curl into a dark chuckle, and his gaze hardens, narrowing at something—or someone—that isn’t here. “No. Boss never wanted anything to do with this shit.”

“What?” I blink, startled. That isn’t the answer I was expecting.

He nods, taking the empty coffee cup from my hands and tossing it into a nearby trash bin. I pause at the edge of the street walk, choosing an empty bench and sitting down. Yuri, of course, remains standing, his posture rigid, hands clasped neatly behindhis back like the ever-watchful guard he is. I roll my eyes and scoot over, patting the space next to me.

“Sit down, Yuri. I’m trying to be your friend, not your boss.”

“If I may, Ms. Ara, I’m good like this.” His response is polite but firm, leaving no room for argument.

I shake my head slightly, resigned, and turn to face him instead. He might not be willing to give me full answers to the questions spinning in my head, but his expressions will give away far more than he intends. And for now, that’ll have to do.

“What did you mean when you said he never wanted anything to do with this?” I press, keeping my tone as light as I can manage while still letting my curiosity edge through.

Yuri grits his teeth, clearly debating whether to answer. His silence stretches for long minutes, the tension between us thickening. So, I give him another nudge, this time a calculated one.

“Did he only want to remain a hit-man?” I ask, letting the question hang in the air, seemingly casual but carefully designed to provoke a response.

It’s a guess—a bold one, admittedly—but not without some basis.

I know Pietro Crescenzo wielded power through a shadowy army of hitmen, each one deadly, skilled, and under his command. They were his secret weapon, the reason he could rake in obscene amounts of money by accepting high-stakes contracts that others wouldn’t dare touch. They were also the reason people whispered his name with a mix of reverence and fear, a reputation that allowed him to ascend to his throne with terrifying ease after he ceased it from the last one.

The hitmen operated in the shadows, unseen, unheard, and, for the most part, unspoken of. They lived in Roarfort, confined to its underbelly, forbidden from stepping foot into the city proper. They were Crescenzo’s dark underdogs, the invisible hand that enforced his reign.

And then there was the legend. The conspiracy theories about one man among them who was unlike the rest. A ghost. A beast. A hunter so skilled, so ruthless, that even Pietro Crescenzo tread carefully around him.

It could have been anyone. But deep down, my instincts whispered one name: Zagan Devlin.

I’ve learned to trust my gut—it’s kept me alive so far. And right now, it’s telling me that Zagan isn’t just anyone in this tangled web of shadows and blood.

My question seems to crack Yuri’s resolve, just slightly. He exhales a short, sharp sigh, his shoulders shifting as he finally looks at me. His eyes narrow with a mix of suspicion and something else I can’t quite place—maybe resignation or reluctant respect.

“You can trust me, Yuri,” I say softly, leaning forward just enough to let him see the sincerity in my expression. “I just want to know him better.”

It’s not a lie. And he sees it. For all the things he has done, I sense that he is much more than what this world paints him to be. He is much more than just a boss. I sense that he is a deeply misunderstood individual who gave up on this world ever accepting him. I want to see the real him. The version no one knows.

Yuri leans against the lamppost, crossing his arms as he regards me. His dark eyes glint with something between reluctance and resolve.

Yuri takes a deep breath, his gaze distant as if watching memories replay in his mind. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate, before he finally speaks.

“You really want to know about him?”

My heart thuds, uneasy yet curious. There’s something ominous in his tone, but I nod.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think he might refuse. But then he begins, his voice low and steady.

“It’s lonely to be him, you know. It always has been. People see power and think it comes with loyalty or admiration, but most of the time, it just breeds fear. And fear? That’s a damn lousy substitute for companionship.”

His words hit harder than I expected. I stay silent, letting him decide how much to share.

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