Ten minutes later, Mark got out of the tub and dried himself off, dressing in the clothes that the Tear Stealer provided him. Mark tugged at the material, smelling of lush lavender.

     Dark turned around when he cleared his throat, eyes glimmering at the sight of the human. The satin, black night clothes gently hugged his frame, and he allowed a small smile.

     "Wonderful," said Dark softly, reaching over for his own garbs and clasping the black robes over his shoulders. "Those are yours."

     Mark ran his hand down the soft material, smiling. "Thank you."

     The Tear Stealer nodded, beckoning him to follow. They left the bath house, heading down the hallways. Mark gazed at every crevice and doorway, burning the images into his head.

     Dark chuckled, noticing the human's focused features. "If you're trying to memorize these halls," he said, "there's no point."

     He gazed down at Mark, whose eyes gleamed with surprise and confusion.

     "The house changes," he said. "It moves the hallways as it sees fit." Mark's brows furrowed, and Dark continued.

     "We've grown an attachment to our rooms," he tried to explain. "Like a signature. That's how we know where to go."

     "You guys don't get lost?"

     "Only new Evolveds who join us do," he said. Mark rose a brow at that. "Once they get adjusted, they know the way around."

     "What do you mean by that?"

     The Tear Stealer blinked for a moment, shocked that he didn't know.

     Right, he told himself. Humans don't know a thing of our endeavors.

     "We can talk about it another time," he said simply.

     Mark frowned at that but said nothing more, and they slowed down, reaching his dreadful room. His chest sank as Dark opened the door, accepting that he'd be prisoner here for as long as they saw fit.

    The Tear Stealer glanced into the room and frowned, remembering the state that Mark left it in. He glanced over at the human, lingering in thought, and closed the door.

    "Come," he said, and they continued down the hallways. Mark's brows furrowed, and after a while, they halted at another short hallway. Three doors echoed at them—two on the sides, and one in the very middle.

    Dark walked forward and opened the door in the middle, revealing a dimly-lit room—enormous and ornate. It was infinitely more spacious than Mark's previous room.

    "You can sleep in my room tonight," said the Tear Stealer, leading him into the bedroom. Mark blinked, surprised.

    "Your—this is your room?"

    He glanced around, noting the comfortable king-sized bed accented with navy blue sheets and pillows. In the corner, lit brighter than the rest of the room, stood a large desk littered with papers and pictures. The Tear Stealer walked over to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers, glancing up at Mark.

    Are we...?

    "I'll sleep somewhere else," he said, answering Mark's unspoken question. He exhaled in relief, earning a smirk. "Unless you want to sleep with me."

    "Oh, I—" Mark's cheeks flared with heat, and Dark chuckled, shaking his head.

    "I'm kidding," he said, approaching Mark. He grazed a hand up the human's arm, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "That doesn't mean you can escape, though." Mark tensed, swallowing, and Dark's lips brushed against his ear. 

"One of my people is connected to this house," he said, voice low. "Any movement you make—so much as a touch to the doorknob or a hand on the window—will be picked up on." His red eyes gleamed. "And I will find out any attempt you make trying to break out."

    He leaned away, and Mark shifted in place.

    "Good night, Mark," said the Tear Stealer with a sadistic smile, and Mark hastily nodded.

    "You too," he mumbled.

    Dark dropped his hand from Mark's arm and walked past him, glancing back at him before leaving and shutting the door with a firm click. Mark stood there for a minute, still stunned from the day's events, a sense of quiet pooling through him. He glanced back at the door for a moment, careful to keep his hands in his pockets.

    This place is out of my league.

    His eyes trailed over to the Tear Stealer's desk, its surface illuminated by a bright lantern. Glancing back at the door once more, he approached the desk, gazing at the dense array of papers. Sketches, articles, pictures...

    Mark sat down, leafing through the papers and entertaining his bored mind. He glanced at the drawer on the right of the desk, a thrill of excitement pulsing in his heart. He licked his lips, glancing at the door, and opened the drawer, finding a black notebook. Quietly, he picked up the journal, flipping through the pages and reading every word and elegant scrawl of the Tear Stealer's words.

    Information of powerful leaders bled from the pages, names, dates, and locations. Mark shifted in his seat, captivated by the words that felt like classified information. There were also paltry sketches of notable places like the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty. Other sketches included streets and shops—all in different languages.

    Mark knew that the Tear Stealer was known throughout the world, but he had no idea the travels he'd really done. He smiled as he continued reading, skipping over the disturbing parts. It was like looking into Dark's mind and thought process—it felt as if he knew him more, now that he read through everything.

Mark landed on the most recent page, staring at it. A list of names stained the page, the ink thicker and pressed down forcefully. He rose a brow, reading over it. Xilef, Eyes, Lux, Emery, Equinox, Raine, Voxe... there were seven other names, but his eyes focused on the bottom words:

Antinstine—one month. One of them.

Mark blinked in confusion, noting that some of the names were crossed out. None of them were circled, though a few words were scribbled out—most likely in frustration. His brows furrowed.

"What's he have to do with Antinstine?" he muttered.

On the very bottom of the page stood the words 'the human?' and he swallowed.

Could that mean me? he thought. He shook his head and stowed away the notebook, closing the drawer. I hope not.

He returned his attention to the papers atop the desk, leafing through them at random. Photos of a man showed in practically every single paper—blue and green eyes gleaming from the ink. Mark rose a brow, flipping one of the photos over and reading the letters on the back: Antinstine.

There was his name again. Mark swallowed, turning the photo back up to gaze into those gleaming eyes filled with hatred.

That's him?

Antinstine's name was rarely spoken of in human media; the mere mention of him sent reporters quivering. Many rumored that even talking about him would get you killed, and some were proven a few times, warning people to fear him and keep him out of any coverage.

Mark picked up another photo, staring at a different shot of Antinstine. Hate still glimmered in his multi-colored eyes, though his features were more composed.

He set down the photos, swallowing.

I hope I never have to meet him, he thought, standing to explore the other facets of the room. 

He opened the drawer beside Dark's bed, which revealed a glass case of vials. Mark leaned down and picked one of them up, squinting at it through the lighting. Wrapped around it in parchment said the name Wither.

Mark tilted the vial, and two drops of a clear liquid slid in the glass. He rose a brow and put it back, picking up another one.

Roosevelt.

Mark's eyes widened, and he picked up another vial, chest tightening. Realization dawned on him as the names echoed through his head, and he set down the vials and shut the drawer.

These were people's tears.

His heart raced, another thought freezing him in place.

Then where were his tears?

———

Meanwhile, in the living room, Dark sat on one of the couches on his lonesome, legs crossed and cocktail in hand.

He stared at the unlabeled vial in his fingers, tilting it with a face of disinterest.

"Let's see who you really are, Mark," he breathed, setting the now-empty vial down and gazing at the cocktail. Carefully, he lifted it to his lips, tilting his head back and sipping the alcohol. The contents burned down his throat, and a small surge of power fluttered in his veins.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the chair as vague, foreign memories flashed before his eyes.

A wave of black fell over his eyes, and then pleasure sang in his veins—excitement, adrenaline, fear and power—and an alleyway stretched before him, the sky dark. Dark let the memory play through his mind, watching idly, staring through Mark's eyes.

Blood coated his hands, and a body lay at his feet, mangled and bleeding out. Another burst of fear pounded through his skull, but as he knelt by the body, satisfaction numbed all other emotion.

Another flash, and another body. Daylight streaked the sky this time, and he glanced down at his hands. The blood was brighter in the light—red and stark against his flesh.

Four dead bodies later, and the fear he felt began to ebb away, replaced with pleasure. Six later, and he began to kneel down to collect pieces of the corpses, stowing them away in his pockets. Strands of hair, gold teeth, bits of flesh or little vials of blood.

Suddenly, he sat in front of a laptop, staring at an article, fear and pleasure sizzling in his veins.

Serial killer on the loose, said the article, covered by a low-end newspaper. All victims are involved in the entertainment industry. Is this a message to Hollywood stars?

Another flash, and more articles—one after the next, years of killing passing and anonymous fame rising.

His eyes lingered on the words CELEBRITY KILLER, and he stared at the screen with utmost satisfaction. The article only drove the urge to kill, making it burn with a brighter passion.

Other kills flashed before his eyes, all brutal and bloody. As Dark watched through Mark's eyes, he noted that the human loved to use his hands. There was a need for his kills to be intimate.

A flash, and he stared down at an unfinished necklace, running a finger over the pieces. A collection holding each trophy from his kills. Dark admired it through the memory, examining the necklace with awe, wondering how humans could create something so terrible with such high regard.

The memories became more crisp and clear, signifying more recent memories. Again, he stared at an article. Mark liked the publicity in his own sickening way.

"CELEBRITY KILLER: Vincent Vita killed by Strangulation."

The article was a statement of his achievements.

More bodies flashed before his eyes, and with each kill, he pulled out the growing piece of jewelry—a necklace made out of trophies from every victim. Twenty victims later—all celebrities, all killed violently—and he sat in front of the laptop again, looking at articles concerning him and other Evolveds. He reached the end of one of the articles, eyes focusing on a paragraph. This was quite the sharp memory:

'Speculation suggests that the Celebrity Killer could be an Evolved...' His eyes continued down the page. '...could he be working with the feared Antinstine?'

Dark opened his eyes, having seen enough, and exhaled softly. Awe glittered in his eyes.

"The Celebrity Killer," he whispered, setting down the cocktail, deep in thought. A smirk graced his lips, and he stared ahead, ideas mulling through his head. "I'm impressed."

He picked up his cocktail again and shook his head, teeth gleaming through his smile. With that, he called for Xilef and took another sip, letting the memories play through his head again as an idea formed in his head.

One that might save one of his own.

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Kassian <3