He had brought me back yesterday evening, carried me from the car and into my house, and stayed by my side till morning.
That wasn’t even the strangest part.
When I got to the kitchen, the plates were washed—washed—and neatly stacked in their usual places. My room had been tidied and my kitchen had been cleaned. I hated to admit he saved me, but not only had he done that, he’d touched personal things in my house and put them in their places.
It was too much. Too thorough to be born out of the kindness of his heart. Right. He knew. He knew about the Pylath. About the other side. About everything I was only beginning to scratch at. Something no one knew.
Who was he?
He didn’t look human—not really. Maybe he wore the shape, maybe it didn’t belong to him. Not with that long, wavy hair that shimmered like night waters, or the aura that moved around him. He looked like something conjured. Something born of poison and parchment, like the monsters I used to read about before bed because it was safe and nothing could walk out of them.
A shiver ran through me when I remembered when he’d touched me.
Gods.
It was a brief and agonizing moment where I felt hollow, as though my soul had taken a step back and left my body to fend for itself. My heart had clung to my ribs and the only thing I could do was stare into those impossible eyes, those bottomless pits where stars should’ve been. An endless tunnel. One glance, and I was falling.
The sensation wasn’t natural. The way my body froze, the way it bound itself, I could swear there was an invisible rope around my chest, knotted tight when his gloved finger brushed my skin.
I even had that emergency ward Weeny Man had given me with his car key placed at every entrance and window of the house. Wasn’t it supposed to keep some things out?
So why hadn’t it worked?
If that dark-eyed creature could walk right through all that spell, then who the hell were they for?
“Good afternoon,” I announced my presence as I pushed open the bookshop door, the faint chime above it echoing through the air. My gaze went straight to the counter, expecting him there as always, buthe wasn’t. Instead, I spotted him sitting by the glass window, a book open in his hands.
He looked up slowly, eyes adjusting from the page to my face. His lips parted, then closed again as if words momentarily failed him. Gently, he shut the book and placed it on the table. I shoved my fists into the pockets of my leather jacket and smiled. He gave me one back—a weak, uncertain thing that looked more like relief than joy.
“You’re alive.”
I let out a small laugh. “By some weird miracle, yes.”
He nodded once, gaze sweeping over me, pausing on my exposed collarbones, noticing the absence of my usual scarf and layers. “You never listen,” he muttered, voice heavy with age and concern. “But…good thing Nimorran is welcoming you now.”
I glanced down at myself—white top, unzipped leather jacket and jeans. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I realised when I went to clean the car this morning. Besides,” I looked up, a faint smirk tugging my lips, “I didn’t exactly go back to The Crater.” I pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But you went back,” he said matter-of-factly, tone leaving no room for lies.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I went back. Because I found something new.”
His expression hardened. “Sanora,” he said. “The Crater is a thing leading you to your death.”
How could I explain it to him? How would I make him understand the pull I felt? That maddening, invisible tug on my chest that had grown stronger by the day. It wasn’t curiosity anymore; it was obsession, a living thread reeling me in. What began as a caress months ago now felt like claws under my ribs. “You don’t understand—”
“It’s pulling you to your death,” he cut in, sharper this time. “It wants you to die.”
I froze, his words slicing straight through me. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, slowly, I exhaled, forcing a smile to my lips, though my throat was tight. “You’re saying that like it has a personal vendetta against me.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
After a long pause, I spoke again. “Do you know anything called Pylath?” My fingers stayed buried deep inside my pockets, nails digging into my palms as I waited.
The frown lines appearing in the middle of his brows made my chest empty, fear blossoming in the space. Or was it intrigue? Was it relief that I was right and that man knew too much to be just human.
“What’s that?” he asked. “What is it about?”
I sighed, my mind scattered into several pieces. Weeny Man didn’t know what it was. He probably didn’t know the other side existed as well. “It’s a curse that lives around The Crater.”
