Page 139 of Nocturne

“All in time,”

“He can die,” I argue.

"If you don’t sit your ass down, I will kill him right fucking now." Her voice is so matter-of-fact, it’s almost as if she’s discussing the weather.

There’s no hesitation, no remorse in her tone.

It’s the same way Zagan speaks—cold, detached, as if death is just another part of the world they inhabit like it’s nothing.

The realisation hits me hard, like a punch to the gut. This is not who she’s become; this is who she always was beneath the surface.

I know she doesn’t care about Yuri—he’s just another pawn in whatever game she’s playing. But I can’t let her take his life. Not after he risked his for mine.

I turn my back on her, grabbing an armchair and pulling it into place. I try to gulp down the pain flaring over all over my body and sit across from her, my eyes never moving. Vince finishes tying the last of the men. He reports that all of them are still alive, except the two that Yuri and I killed. He doesn’t bother touching them. Instead, he goes to sit on the stairs, his eyes focused on me, an unsettling curiosity in them.

"Yes?" I snap, my voice sharp, and I’m not sure if I want to hear the answer.

The change in Harley is immediate. Her smile falters, and her eyes—those deadly eyes—flare with rage. She jumps down from the counter with an almost predatory grace, her heels clicking against the floor, and I stand my ground, refusing to back down, even as she closes the distance between us.

She bends to the right of the coffee table, pulling it between us as if to establish some kind of boundary. Then, without warning,she reaches into her jacket and pulls out a picture. She slaps it down on the table, her eyes gleaming with something that might be satisfaction, might be malice.

I don’t look at her—I can’t. My gaze is locked on the picture in front of me, my chest tightening as my heart begins to hammer painfully in my ribcage. The woman in the photograph stares back at me, her eyes wide and hauntingly familiar. My breath catches in my throat as I whisper the name that rises unbidden from my lips, barely able to comprehend the truth of it.

“W…Willow.”

"Yes." Harley grits the word through clenched teeth, and it’s like the air in the room thickens, turning suffocating.

Tears sting my eyes as I look back at her, the weight of everything crashing down on me.

I see it then. I understand the anger, I understand the hatred, and I even see the hollowness inside her eyes. The one that comes from losing someone important. And I know who she is.

Willow has spoken about her. On countless nights when we couldn’t sleep in that wretched dungeon, we shared our stories. We shared the dreams of escaping that damned place. And she always spoke of her younger sister, who was awaiting her return.

The sister who would bring down hell on the people who hurt her. And the said sister is staring into the eyes of the killer who took Willow’s life.

“Time to talk, Ara.”

Indeed.

P H A G A

I

Ten years ago

I hugged myself tightly as I stepped into the forest, the rain soaking through my jacket and jeans. The chill bit at my skin, but it wasn’t the cold that had me shivering. The air here felt different. It felt heavy and oppressive, as though the trees themselves bore silent witness to a thousand untold horrors. Their twisted branches intertwined like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky, creating a canopy so dense that barely any light penetrated through the rain-heavy clouds above.

My boots squelched in the mud as I ventured deeper. The forest teemed with life—the chittering of monkeys, the rustling of leaves as deers darted away at my approach, the low croaks of frogs hidden among the lush undergrowth. It was hauntingly beautiful, every shade of green vibrant against the grey backdrop of the storm.

But there was something else, too. Something I couldn’t explain. A feeling that crawled up my spine and whispered in my ear.

Evil.

The thought made me laugh bitterly; the sound was swallowed almost instantly by the forest. I shook my head, trying to banish the irrationality. I was an avid believer in logic and evidence. There was no such thing as evil forces lurking in the woods. It was just my grief and exhaustion playing tricks on my mind.

And yet… I couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

My heart pounded against my ribcage with every step, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder more often than I wanted to admit. Each time, I was greeted by the same sight: an endless expanse of trees, their trunks dark and glistening in the rain. Nothing else. No one else.

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