Page 25 of Avidian
I’m so confused by his question. Why is he asking if I trust Viktor? It’s his fucking brother. His twin. If Marco is asking for my opinion of him, he’s clearly questioning things about this place and their relationship in ways I don’t fully understand yet. I want to tell him Viktor is vile, but I hold my tongue. Family loyalty runs deep, and the last thing I need is to cross a line I can’t step back from.
“Does Viktor have any Avids?” I ask, testing the waters.
Marco doesn’t reply immediately, and the silence feels heavier than it should. My heartbeat picks up, each second dragging longer than the last. I wonder if I made a mistake already.
“Afraid I might find another favorite while we’re here?” Marco finally says, teasing, though there’s something guarded beneath it.
I let out a light laugh, brushing off the tension. “Impossible,” I say smoothly.
He snickers, clearly pleased with my answer, and some of the weight in the air lifts.
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I continue, “and I may need help with this case. Maybe he has someone who could be useful to me.”
Marco hums, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. It’s a noncommittal sound, enough to let me know he’s considering it. Will he actually tell me anything? That’s a different story.
But I planted the seed, and that’s all I want to do right now. Pushing further would be too obvious, too risky. Let him mull it over.
“Viktor is very private,” Marco says after a pause. “His view on people like you is different from mine. If it were up to him, he’d keep you in a cage. This is all very difficult for him. He’s told me he arranged for you to come to dinner tomorrow night.”
I’m not surprised. Of course the bastard would want to put me in a cage. Little does he know, I’m already in one—it has plush sheets and pretty walls. I think about the conditions the Avids he gets his hands on must be in...wherever they are.
Malachi is right. I have to do whatever I can to help, because this may be my only chance to make a difference. I’m tired of being complicit in this gilded prison of mine.
“Yes, he made it clear I’m to be Orin’s, er, date. And that I’m a regular human—my only gifts shall be my looks,” I say.
“Very good.” Marco reaches over, patting my leg briefly, the gesture as dismissive as it is practiced. “Let’s play by his rules since it’s his home and these are his friends. Do you understand?”
I nod, hiding my irritation. Of course Marco wants to play nice. Everything is always nice on the surface with him. Polished, presentable, and dripping with charm, no matter what darkness lurks underneath.
He’ll be your best friend right up until the moment he stabs you in the back—literally.
“Tell me everything you know about the case thus far,” Marco says as we leave the forest and pass by businesses. I knew being vague wouldn’t be enough.
I take a slow breath. “Damien’s spirit is taunting me. He’s difficult to communicate with because he thinks it’s a game. It’s as if he doesn’t want his killer found. On top of that, he’s keeping Carmen from communicating with me somehow. Her spirit is weak, and I’m struggling to get anything from her.”
Marco listens intently, his expression unreadable, so I press on, testing the waters for my next move. “I suspect an Avid could have been behind this. I can’t explain it, but when I went into Carmen’s vision, I felt...power. I could probably sense it again if I were closer to it.”
I hope I don’t regret this lie.
Marco tilts his head but doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “I thought you wanted to know if Viktor had any Avids so you could get help. You think one may be behind it as well?”
I force myself not to react, refraining from biting my lip or giving away any tells. “Yes,” I say. “I could use the extra help, but I also thought that by working with them, I might be able to dig deeper into this case without coming off as a threat. I’m like them. If I seek their help, I could gain their trust and in turn find out who the killer is.”
God, I hope I’m not making this a million times worse.
If Malachi doesn’t come through on his promise to help free them, I might be setting these Avids up for some serious punishment. Viktor already despises our kind, and if he starts believing one of us killed his son... Fuck, please let this not be a mistake.
Marco’s fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel. Finally, he nods. “I’ll speak to Viktor about getting you more access, but let’s keep this between you and me for now.”
My heart slows. This is good. A step in the right direction.
Malachi may not think so, but I don’t care what he thinks. I’ll do what I have to do, and if he has a problem with it, he can deal with it later. For now, I’ve opened a door. Whether it leads to salvation or disaster, only time will tell.
We pass through a dilapidated town, the kind of place that feels forgotten by time. Marco slows the car, the tires crunching over ice-covered asphalt, cracked and riddled with fissures that spiderweb across the surface like scars. The buildings lining the street buckle under the weight of snow and years of neglect. Roofs sag precariously, icicles dangling from their edges like jagged teeth, while shattered windows gape open, exposing rotting interiors to the bitter wind.
Streetlights, long dead and encased in frost, lean at unnatural angles, their warped poles twisted from years of brutal weather. A scattered few people shuffle along broken sidewalks covered in snow, hunched against the cold in mismatched layers that barely shield them from the biting air. Their faces are gaunt, hollowed by hunger, their eyes fixed downward as if even a glance in our direction could invite trouble.
Small clusters of them gather around barrels filled with burning scraps, the flames lighting up their weathered features. As we drive past, I can’t help but wonder if the people here even remember what if feels like to be warm—to be full.
