Chapter 18

They had retired to Eva and Angelina’s apartment temporarily, the space was quiet in the heavy, lingering way that only follows violence. It was not the quiet of peace or rest, but the uneasy silence of survival, where the body continues to process a fight long after the blows have stopped hitting.

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, cutting pale, dusty tracks across the wooden floorboards. Dust swirled lazily through the air, disturbed only by the minimal movements within the room.

Daniel sat on the ground with his back pressed against the far wall, his shirt open to reveal skin stained with dark, dried blood. His head hung forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he forced his breathing into a slow, deliberate rhythm. Healing had always come easily to him—wounds usually closed in seconds, broken bones mending before his brain could even register the agony. But these injuries were different, something deep within his core was failing to ignite. His ribs still throbbed with a dull, sickening ache, the deep bruising across his chest had barely begun to fade, and even the shallow cut along his cheekbone remained open, weeping a thin trail of blood.

Daniel slowly flexed his right hand, testing his grip. The strength was there, but the lightning-fast responsiveness had dulled.

Across the room, Eva sat by the small wooden table, watching him with careful, unblinking eyes. She had awakened well before dawn to clean his worst lacerations while he drifted in a half-conscious stupor. Now she sat with a soft rag in her hand, idly wiping dried blood from the blade of a hunting dagger that was already clean, her gaze repeatedly darting back to his resting frame.

Daniel caught the movement without lifting his head. “You’re staring.”

Eva didn't bother denying it. “You nearly died last night, Daniel.”

Daniel let out a long, ragged breath that rattled in his chest. “That’s an exaggeration.”

Eva set the dagger down with a quiet clink. “Is it?”

Daniel didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned his head back against the plaster wall and closed his eyes. The physical memory of the encounter still vibrated under his skin: the horrifying efficiency of Dranum’s strikes, the suffocating pressure of the sigils completely severing his internal magic channels. It had been decades since anyone had managed to dismantle him so effortlessly.

Eva watched the tight lines around his mouth before speaking again. “You’re healing slower than usual.”

Daniel opened one eye, his pupil a dull crimson. “Observant.”

“Concerned,” Eva corrected gently.

Daniel gave a weak, indifferent shrug. “The cathedral sigils disrupted my internal magic. That’s what high-tier binding runes are designed to do to warlock channels. It just takes time to clear the system.”

Eva leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “Will you fully recover?”

Daniel opened both eyes, looking directly at her. “Yes.” He paused, adding in a quieter tone, “I always do.”

The response should have offered comfort, but the flat, distant delivery only tightened the knot in Eva’s stomach. Last night had stripped away a comforting illusion: Daniel was impossibly powerful, terrifyingly so, but he was not invincible. There were forces in the dark that could break him—things far older and far worse than the hybrid sitting in front of her.

A sudden groan echoed from the worn sofa near the entryway. Angelina sat up slowly, wincing as she clutched her head. A white medical bandage was wrapped tightly around her forehead where she had impacted the pillar.

“Next time we decide to follow mysterious warlock magic signals into an abandoned building,” Angelina muttered, rubbing her temples, “remind me to stay in bed and take a nap.”

Daniel’s mouth twitched into a faint, exhausted smirk. “You’re the one who insisted on coming along.”

Angelina swung her legs off the couch, wincing again as her boots hit the floor. “Yeah, well, I didn't expect to get thrown forty feet through solid stone by a possessed skeletal corpse.”

Eva raised a dark eyebrow. “That’s certainly one way to describe Malachar.”

Angelina snorted softly. “He looked like a corpse to me.”

Ignoring the sharp flare of pain in his side, Daniel pushed himself up off the floor and leaned against the wall for support. “It wasn't Malachar doing the fighting.”

Angelina waved a hand dismissively as she stood up. “Yeah, yeah. Dranum. Your charming former teacher.”

Daniel’s face darkened slightly at the word. Teacher was entirely the wrong term for what Dranum had been to him, but he let out a dry, humorless breath. “That’s Dranum.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room for a long minute.

Angelina stretched her arms above her head, her back popping audibly. “Well, I’m going to scavenge the kitchen before my body files a formal complaint against last night.” She grabbed her broadsword from beside the couch and slung it over her shoulder, heading into the small kitchen area and leaving Daniel and Eva alone once more.

The quiet between them grew heavy, almost suffocating.

“Look at me,” Eva said softly.

Daniel shifted his gaze to her warily.

“You’re furious,” she observed.

Daniel’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

“Because he beat you?” she asked.

He shook his head once, a cold edge entering his tone. “Because he still believes he owns my life.”

“Does he?” Eva met his eyes steadily, refusing to look away.

Daniel remained silent, the question hanging unanswered in the morning light.

Eva took a slow, deep breath, her fingers drifting up to the collar of her shirt. “You’ve always hated warlocks with a passion, Daniel.”

Daniel blinked, a flicker of mild confusion breaking through his dark mood. “Most people do. They’re parasites.”

She shook her head softly. “Not the way you do. It’s personal for you.”

Something in her deliberate posture prompted Daniel to straighten up slightly. “What are you getting at, Eva?”

Eva hesitated, her thumb catching on a delicate silver chain hidden beneath her collar. She pulled it free, letting a small metallic object drop into the sunlight. At the bottom of the chain hung a worn metal talisman, small and tarnished, its edges smoothed by years of constant handling.

Etched into the surface was a dense, intricate web of geometric symbols—a specific protective binding pattern that Daniel recognized instantly.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed sharply as he stared at the metal. “...Where did you get that?”

Eva watched his reaction, her green eyes fixed on his face. “You know what this signature is, don't you?”

Daniel pushed himself away from the walll and took two steps toward her, completely ignoring the sharp protest from his cracked ribs. His eyes never left the talisman. “Yes,” he said, his voice dropping into a deep, quiet register. “I forged it.”

Eva nodded once. “I know.”

Daniel’s head snapped up, a look of rare, total perplexity washing over his features. “How could you possibly have that?”

Eva lifted the small piece of metal, letting it slowly rotate between her fingers in the pale light. “It was roughly twelve years ago,” she began, her voice dropping into a soft, distant whisper. “In a small settlement south of the border. A warlock came into the village.”

“Warlocks usually leave a mark,” Daniel said flatly, his posture going rigid. “What did he do?”

“He attacked our home,” Eva continued, staring down at the talisman. “My parents died within the first few seconds of him breaking the door down.”

The air in the apartment suddenly felt several degrees colder. Daniel didn't speak, but his crimson eyes sharpened.

“Angelina and I managed to scramble up into the attic space,” she said quietly. “I remember pressing my hand over her mouth, hiding in the dark, absolutely certain we were going to be slaughtered next.”

Daniel remained motionless.

“Then the front door was shattered,” Eva said, her eyes shifting up to meet his. “And you stepped into the house.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed slightly as he searched his memories. Hunting warlocks over the decades had been a bloody, repetitive blur of dark halls, severed magic lines, and nameless corpses. He had put down dozens of rogue practitioners, rarely caring to remember the specific locations or faces left in the aftermath.

“You destroyed him,” Eva said, a faint tremor in her voice. “It wasn't even a fight. It took you less than a minute.”

Daniel kept his gaze locked on her, the fog in his mind beginning to clear. A faint, distant memory surfaced—a rain-slicked wooden house, the smell of dark magic hanging thick in the air, and a small, shadowed attic entrance at the end of a blood-stained hallway. Two small, terrified faces huddled together in the dark.

“I remember,” Daniel murmured softly.

Eva nodded, a soft smile touching her lips. “You walked up the stairs after you ended him like it was nothing. You didn't say much—you just looked at the two of us crouched in the corner.”

Daniel closed his eyes for a brief second, the image resolving clearly in his mind. “I gave you the protective ward.”

“Yes,” Eva whispered.

“I told you to keep it hidden beneath your clothes,” Daniel recalled, the exact memory falling into place.

Eva repeated the words she had memorized over a decade ago: ‘Warlocks won't like being anywhere near you while you wear this.’

Daniel stared at the small silver disc in her palm, a strange, unnameable weight settling in his chest. “I didn't remember your faces. You were just kids.”

“We were children,” Eva agreed, stepping closer to him. “But we never forgot yours.”

Daniel turned his head slightly away, his posture stiffening. “I killed a lot of warlocks back then. I saved a lot of people just to tear down their networks.”

Eva observed him thoughtfully. “Monsters don't go out of their way to leave protective wards for frightened children, Daniel.”

The words hung in the quiet apartment, heavy and undeniable.

Daniel didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out his hand, palm open. “May I?”

Eva carefully placed the talisman into his hand. The metal felt surprisingly warm against his cold skin. The moment his fingers closed around the edges, a faint, pale blue light pulsed across the etched sigils—a subtle hum of protective magic reacting to its original creator. The ward was still fully functional after twelve years.

Daniel studied the metal silently. “You kept it all this time.”

Eva shrugged lightly. “You told us it would keep us safe.”

“Did it work?” he asked softly.

She offered a small, genuine smile. “Every dark magic wielder or rogue practitioner we’ve crossed paths with since then has looked extremely uncomfortable just standing in the same room as us.”

A microscopic ghost of a smile touched Daniel’s lips before vanishing. He handed the talisman back to Eva, watching as she carefully fastened the clasp around her neck and slipped it back beneath her shirt.

“You saved our lives,” she said quietly.

Daniel leaned his shoulder back against the wall, looking down at the floorboards. “I don't even remember that warlock’s name.”

“You didn't bother asking him,” Eva replied with a dry touch of humor.

Daniel lifted his head to look at her again. She met his gaze with absolute, unshakeable steady clarity.

“You keep trying to convince yourself that you’re turning into a monster,” she added softly.

Daniel didn't reply. His prolonged silence was answer enough.

“Maybe you are changing,” Eva said. “But you weren't born a monster, Daniel. And you weren't one twelve years ago.”

The silence returned to the room, broken only by the faint rustle of the morning wind through the trees outside the apartment building.

Daniel finally broke the quiet, his tone dropping into a low warning. “You shouldn't stay around me, Eva. Dranum, the Fey, the coven—they must all be converging by now, Dranum has never been this desperate in coming after me.”

Eva smiled lightly, stepping right into his space. “I’ve already been standing near your shadow for twelve years, Daniel.”

She looked up into his crimson eyes, her expression fierce and certain. “You saved my life once... and you didn't even know who I was.”

Daniel had no answer for that. For the first time since the fight in the cathedral, the tension between them shifted—dropping the cold edge of violence and resolving into something warmer, grounded, and terrifyingly real.

“Good news!” Angelina’s loud voice suddenly shattered the atmosphere from the kitchen doorway.

Daniel let out a long, tired breath. “With you, that usually means catastrophic news.”

Angelina walked back into the living room, holding a half-burnt piece of toast in one hand and pointing toward the front window with the other. “We’ve got company.”

Daniel’s posture instantly went rigid, his crimson eyes flaring to life.

Eva’s face tightened with concern. “What kind of company, Angelina?”

Angelina took a bite of her toast, jerking her thumb toward the street below. “Three black, blacked-out SUVs just pulled up to the curb outside.”

Daniel slowly pushed himself away from the wall. His ribs still burned with agony, and his magic was still running cold, but his expression hardened into stone. Trouble never waited for a man to heal, and neither did the things that hunted him.