Flicking my gaze away from the man's dominating one, I clutch Atlas to my chest, refusing to let him be tainted by the cruel beast standing over us. The heartache of losing him pales compared to the terror racing through my veins.

The Devil is terrifying.

He stands tall—six-foot-six at least—with a lethal build and the deadest eyes I've ever seen. His jaw looks like it's been forged by years of clenching and grinding. Dressed in a soiled white dress shirt and black slacks, lean muscle ripples beneath, ready to claim its next kill.

A shiver trails down my spine, and I force myself to look back up, unwilling to let my gaze wander anywhere but on the volatile man who holds my life in his hands.

His short hair glows from the fire around us, each strand like a flame of its own, and the stubble along his jaw seems harsher with every enunciated word. "Wrong fucking move," he growls, glaring down at me, his finger twitching on the trigger.

Do it.

The voice in my head taunts.

Everyone you touch dies, Giadhya. Let him kill you.

The guilt and pain Atlas carried for me come rushing back in full force. I've spent the last ten years holding onto the wicked whispers of my morality. What right do I have to exist in a world where my family no longer walks—and now Atlas...

With all the self-hatred and disease inside me, I blink and smile through my tears. "You'd be doing me a favour," I whisper, then close my eyes and tighten my grip on Atlas.

I'll see you soon, Atlas.

I can't hear him, and with my sight removed, I feel vulnerable. The fire crackles around us, and in the distance, I hear sirens. But my mind goes quiet, and for once, I know that if this is it, I'll gladly walk through the gates of hell. Relaxing, I realize just how much easier it is to let a stranger pull the trigger on my life.

But as the seconds tick by, nothing happens. After a moment, the cold metal of the gun disappears from my temple, and I open my eyes.

A drop of blood falls from his chin, landing on my cheek. "Death is a privilege, one you do not deserve... I'm going to ruin your fucking world, Schöne Hexe," he seethes, his accent thick and gravelly.

The sirens grow louder, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of a man groaning and shifting draws our attention to the door of the industrial building.

The distraction is all I need—a moment of clarity. I have to get away from here.

I press my lips to Atlas's forehead. "I love you," I murmur.

Without waiting another moment, I take advantage of The Devil's distraction and escape. My shaky limbs crawl behind the burning vehicle, and I use the shadows of the night to run up the hill. Reaching the top, I look back, and my heart stops.

His eyes burn into mine, brighter than the fire consuming his surroundings. Ruthless hate and pure fucking vengeance blaze in them, even from this distance.

The conviction and unwavering determination in his gaze tell me everything I need to know. This man will find me, consume me, and as he promised, fucking destroy every morsel of my being.

My fingers tremble as I fumble with the door handle, sliding behind the wheel of my car. I start it on autopilot, tearing away from the curb and driving into the night, unsure what the fuck I'm doing or what's left of me.

Full-blown hysteria takes over, and I give in—letting it control my actions, thoughts, and movements entirely. I don't know how much time passes, but the sun hits the horizon, and at some point, I find a single thread of sanity, standing in the middle of my living room. How did I even get here?

I clutch the flower he left in my palm and scream until my lungs burn and my throat aches. Wrapping our blanket around my shoulders, I inhale his scent, letting it hold me, but the warmth is gone.

He's gone. And I'm alone again.

The sun rises and falls, shining through the windows, but I can't move. My eyes remain dazed, staring at the empty mug and the static on my television. Again and again, until the days blur and I lose all concept of time.

All that's left are fragments of consciousness, and in those brief synapses, I'm never in control. I watch like an observer as my body moves. This is one of those movements.

I stand and move to the bathroom. Using his body wash, I let it sink into my skin. The cold tiles press against me as my knees weaken, and I collapse in a heap on the shower floor. My stomach has surpassed painful hunger—this is starvation.

But it's something I have control over, so I deny myself food until the blame and hatred stop whispering in my ear. My delirious state crawls back to the living room, sinking onto the sofa.

The cycle repeats until I can no longer tell reality from dreams.

"Gia!"

"Gia!"

"Gia, wake up!"

A panicked voice slices through the fog of my subconscious, pulling me from the darkness. My eyes flutter open reluctantly, and I blink rapidly, adjusting to the harsh reality of the cruel fucking world. For a moment, I'm certain that if I'd just kept my eyes closed a little longer, I would have followed Atlas.

The sun blares through the window, searing my eyes. A shadow falls over me, and I feel someone shaking my shoulders. Green eyes, wide with fear, lock onto mine. She looks familiar, but her name slips through the cracks of my fragile mind.

I'm too weak—too fucking weak to speak, to move, to figure out who she is. The effort is too much, and I let my eyes drift shut again, surrendering to the comforting pull of darkness.

The next time I wake, there's chaos around me. Voices. Hands lifting me onto something firm. The blur of uniforms swims in and out of focus, and then the darkness takes me again.

A warm hand grips my cold, lifeless fingers. I glance down, too drained to do anything but stare. I can't squeeze the hand back, though for a fleeting moment, the deep red of her nails reminds me of the blood that dripped from The Devil.

This time, it's his eyes that haunt me as the darkness claims me once more.

~ ~ ~ 

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The grating sound gnaws at my nerves, forcing me awake. My frown deepens as the noise persists, irritating and invasive. I open my eyes, immediately regretting it as I wince against the stark white walls. The machine beside me screams louder as if mocking my discomfort.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils, and I realize with a sinking feeling exactly where I am. A hospital.

A faint rustling breaks my thoughts. Turning my head, I see her—the green-eyed woman. She's seated in a worn armchair, her dark blue scrubs wrinkled, her face paler than I've ever seen. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, trembling slightly.

When she notices my movement, her gaze snaps to mine, relief flooding her expression.

"Oh, Gia," Erin whispers, her voice quivering. "You scared the fuck out of me... Thank God."

Shame and embarrassment wash over me as I meet her concerned eyes. "I-I'm sorry—"

"It's okay, it's okay," she says quickly, leaning closer. "Don't try to speak. I'm just glad we found you when we did." Her hand reaches for mine, and I let her take it, her warmth a sharp contrast to the icy void inside me.

The memories flood back all at once, sharp and overwhelming. The events of the past week flash behind my eyelids, and fresh tears blur my vision. "Thank you," I whisper hoarsely.

"I should've checked on you sooner," Erin says, guilt lacing her voice. "When you missed your first shift, I thought you'd just called in sick. But when you didn't show up all week, I knew something was wrong." Her grip on my hand tightens, and her lips curve into a sad smile. "You were barely breathing, Gia. You almost—" Her voice cracks, and she takes a shaky breath. "What happened?"

I turn my head away, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window. It feels like a cruel joke—the world outside so bright and alive while I'm hollow, nothing but shards of memories and a single name echoing in my mind.

Atlas.

Erin is the only friend I have, yet I've kept him a secret even from her. My throat tightens as the words claw their way out. "I lost someone."

Her face softens with understanding, sympathy smoothing the lines of worry. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, standing to wrap her arms around me. She doesn't ask for details, doesn't push for answers I'm not ready to give. Instead, she holds me as I break apart, sobbing into her shoulder, clinging to the fragile comfort of her embrace.

~ ~ ~ 

I stay in the hospital for the next three days, pumped with fluids and slowly introduced to food again. Erin keeps me company between her shifts, and I'm grateful for her presence because, when I'm alone, my mind tries to tear me apart.

When the time comes, I sign the discharge form and follow Erin as she leads the way to her car. She insists on staying with me for the next week, just to make sure I settle in. I don't have the heart to tell her it's impossible—nothing will feel settled now that Atlas is gone.

The drive home is filled with Erin's light chatter, her attempt to keep my thoughts from wandering too far into the darkness. I reply absently, my eyes unfocused as the world rushes by in a blur beyond the windows.

Rain begins to pour, the sky opening up above us. The rhythmic sound of drops hitting the car roof brings a strange kind of comfort, lulling me into a daze. I almost miss it—almost don't notice the twisted metal on the side of the road, flames licking at the undercarriage of a wrecked vehicle.

"Erin, stop!" I shout, my voice cracking from disuse.

She slams on the brakes, her eyes wide as she turns to me. Without thinking, I throw open the door and bolt into the rain, my body moving on instinct.

The car is overturned, smoke rising in thick tendrils from the engine. My canvased feet splash through puddles, icy water soaking into my skin. Inside the vehicle, I see figures struggling to move, bloodied and disoriented.

"Gia, wait!" Erin yells, running after me.

I ignore her, my vision narrowing to the scene in front of me. The burning SUV flashes before my eyes—Atlas's charred body. I couldn't save him, but maybe, just maybe, I can save them.

My heart pounds in my ears as I reach the wreck. There are three men inside: two groaning in pain, and the third straining against his seatbelt with a grimace. The driver's door is twisted, wedged against the embankment, and his panicked eyes lock onto mine as he struggles to free himself.

"Hold on!" I call out, gripping the door handle. It won't budge. I look over my shoulder, shouting to Erin, "Come help me pull this open!"

She glances around quickly, assessing for danger, then rushes to my side. Together, we pull on the door, gritting our teeth as the metal groans in protest. Slowly—agonizingly—it begins to move.

I glance at the man inside, his face pale and twisted in pain, and he nods faintly. Finally, the door gives way, and we drag it open just enough to pull the men free. One by one, Erin and I work together to get them out of the car, the rain pouring down around us in relentless sheets.

Erin calls for ambulances while I tend to their injuries, trying to identify where they're bleeding and stop it. A crowd begins to form, and we direct people to help however they can.

The last man we pull from the car seems mostly unharmed. He coughs, gripping my arm as he steadies himself. "What can I do?" he asks, his hair greying, his eyes dark and intense.

"Hold this on his chest," I say, handing him a piece of fabric, "and stay alive."

Emergency services arrive quickly. The two more seriously injured men are taken away in ambulances, while the last man leans against the highway barrier, speaking in Russian into his phone.

His eyes flick back to me, and something deep inside me screams for me to run. There's something dangerous—unsettling—in his gaze. He ends the call and moves toward Erin and me, his steps deliberate and slow.

"My name is Yuri," he says, his voice smooth but firm, his eyes locking onto mine. "Yuri Volkov. And it seems I owe you both a debt."

"There's no need," I reply instantly, my voice sharp and almost too quick. Every instinct in my body wants to create distance, to step away from the tension thrumming beneath his words. But Erin doesn't seem to share my hesitation.

"I insist," Yuri continues, his tone polite but unyielding. "I can't repay you here, but I'm hosting a function this weekend. Come, and let me thank you both properly."

Erin offers a polite smile. "That's very generous, but really, there's no need."

Before we can say more, a sleek car pulls up, and two men in suits step out. Yuri nods to them, and they stop a meter away, waiting. He glances back at us, his expression unreadable. "It will be at Grand Central, in the main hall. Doors open at six in the evening. I'll have your names on the guest list..." He pauses, realizing he doesn't know who we are.

"Erin," she says quickly, gesturing to me, "and this is Giadhya."

Yuri smiles—a cold, eerie smile that sends a shiver down my spine. "Erin. Giadhya. Your names will be on the list."

He turns toward the suited men, adding as he steps into the car, "It will be fun. Lots of good food and even better company."

With that, he disappears into the vehicle, and they drive off without another word.

I turn to Erin, my heart still racing. "That was... odd."

A flicker of excitement crosses her face, along with dawning realization. "You don't know who he is, do you? That was Yuri Volkov, Gia. He used to be head of security for the Russian government, and now he runs one of the largest security organizations in the world. Billionaire kind of rich."

My frown deepens, unease clawing at me. "Still, Erin, I don't think we should—"

"Oh, come on!" she interrupts, her eyes gleaming. "We are so going to this thing. It'll be a good distraction for you, and who knows?" She winks playfully. "I might even snag myself a rich husband."

I force a smile, but deep down, Yuri Volkov's invitation doesn't sit right with me. His gaze, his demeanour—everything about him feels like a trap waiting to spring.

But Erin's enthusiasm is contagious, and maybe—just maybe—she's right. 

A distraction might be exactly what I need to keep the demons at bay.

* * *

I can't explain it, but Gia and Silas will be my Roman Empire, I can feel it.

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J.