The man took a step closer, the dim light catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. "He won't last like this." My heart slammed against my ribs. "You—" My voice wavered. "What did you do to him?" His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Nothing you haven't already seen." The nausea churned in my stomach. Then, he moved. Slow, deliberate. A gloved hand slipping into his coat. Retrieving something. I stiffened. But instead of a weapon, he held out— A vial. The liquid inside swirled dark, almost too thick, too unnatural.
"What—" I shook my head. "What is that?" The man just tilted his head, considering me. "Something that will keep him breathing." I looked at the vial, then back at him. My grip tightened on the body in my arms. "Why would you—"
"Because it doesn't matter if he dies now." His voice was calm. Too calm. "That would be a waste." A sharp chill ran down my spine. I didn't trust this. I didn't trust him. But then I looked back down at the boy in my arms. Pale. Unmoving. I was running out of time. "How do I know this isn't poison?" I demanded. The man let out a quiet chuckle. "You don't." I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I reached for the vial. He didn't stop me. But just as my fingers brushed against the glass, his grip tightened—forcing me to look at him.
"One drop." His voice dropped lower, the weight of it pressing down on me. "No more. No less." My stomach twisted. "Why?" This time, his smile did reach his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough." And then—just like that—he turned and walked away. No further explanation. No final threat. Just fading footsteps and the echo of something I didn't understand. I stared after him, pulse hammering. Then I looked down at the vial in my hand. Onedrop. My fingers tightened around the glass. And I had to make a choice.
The vial was cool in my fingers. Too light. Too dangerous. The liquid inside shifted, thick and ink-dark under the dim light. One drop. I swallowed hard. Kaze , in my arms wasn't moving. His breathing was shallow, barely there. His skin had gone cold. I hesitated. What if this was exactly what the man wanted? What if I gave him this and—it did something worse?
My fingers tightened around the vial. But then—his breath hitched. A small, barely-there sound, like his body was still trying to fight—still trying to hold on. I felt something twist inside me. It was stupid. I had no reason to care this much. No reason to feel this raw, this desperate. I barely knew him.
And yet— My hands were shaking. Because I did care. Because I remembered. I remembered the way he had stood in front of me even though he was shaking, the way he had tried—tried so damn hard—to keep that man away from me. Even when he could barely stand. Even when he had been terrified. "You matter." That's what he had told me. And now he was dying in my arms. I let out a sharp breath, my chest tightening.
Then—I unstoppered the vial. A thick, unnatural scent curled up from it—metallic, acidic, wrong. My gut screamed not to do this. But I had no other choice. So I tilted the vial. Let a single, black drop slide down onto my fingertip. And then—I pressed it against his lips. For a second, nothing happened. Then— His body tensed. His breath hitched, a sudden, sharp gasp ripping from his throat. I flinched, my heart pounding. His back arched slightly, his fingers twitching. Then—a choked sound. I grabbed his wrist, panicking. "Kaze—breathe! Just breathe—!" His eyes snapped open. Dark. Wide. Unfocused. Then they locked onto me.
And in them— I saw something like fear. A shudder ran through him. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His entire body tensed, like something was crawling beneath his skin, twisting, clawing— Then he broke.
A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat. His body convulsed once—twice—before he collapsed completely.
I barely caught him. His head fell against my shoulder, his body going limp.
His breath—shallow but steady. Alive. I exhaled sharply, my own chest heaving. Then I looked down at the vial still clutched in my hand. The liquid inside— It had turned clear.The weight of him was unbearable. Not because he was heavy—he wasn't—but because he wasn't responding. His breathing was too shallow, his skin was too cold, and the way his fingers had gone limp against his sides—he was slipping.
I couldn't do this alone. I barely knew where my own feet were taking me when I rounded the corner and— Vee.