A shiver crawled over my skin. I rubbed my arms, now covered in gooseflesh.
Malik’s voice dropped lower as if uttering a forbidden truth.
“They are the Maestri del Veleno—the Masters of Poison. Their knowledge of deadly substances is unparalleled. They’ve blended their expertise with alchemy, creating poisons with no known antidote.” He hesitated. “Well… there is an antidote, but it’s nearly impossible to acquire. Their toxins don’t just kill—they weaken the darkness itself.”
My breath hitched. “They can weaken you?”
He exhaled through his nose, smoothing his long hair back.
“Here’s how they work.” His voice was quieter now, heavier, like a confession weighted with trauma. “They trap time travelers. Experiment with them. They test poisons—one after another—until they find the perfect combination that will cripple them.”
A shadow passed over his eyes—a look I had never seen before.
“They secure them in a sealed room and flood it with poison vapors designed to invade their minds, to twist their senses. At first, they hallucinate. Then comes the sweating, the nausea, the retching. Their body convulses as their mind fractures. And when they’re weak enough, when their resistance crumbles…”
His voice dipped into something nearly haunted.
“They drain their blood and kill them.”
A shocked gasp ripped from my throat.
My hand flew to my mouth as bile rose inside me.
“This is what you experienced, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Malik’s jaw clenched. For the first time, he looked away.
And I knew—without him needing to say a word?—
He had lived thatnightmare.
“Raul Costa is the head of the society here in Italy,” Malik warned. “Your mother trusted him. He used her. He tortured her.”
A sick shudder ran through me.
“Somehow, she survived and escaped,” he continued, his expression unreadable.
I swallowed hard. “I know. She wrote about it in her journal.”
Malik nodded, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Oh yes, she did. But what she didn’t write—what she couldn’t—is that every year, Costa finds two Timebornes or Timebounds to torture. I don’t know how he finds them, but he makes a spectacle of it.”
A cold dread coiled in my gut. “A… spectacle?”
Malik’s smile was grim. “At the masquerade ball, there will be an exhibit.”
I stared at him, horrified.
“The guests love it,” he said bitterly. “They think it’s all theater—just an elaborate act. But the other Timehunters? They know the truth. And they enjoy it. The thrill of the torture, the exquisite pleasure of inflicting pain, the deafening screams—they revel in it with sadistic glee. Every moan, every cry that escapes their victims’ lips is like honey to them.”
His gaze darkened, distant. “Afterward, they’ll find ways to slake their desires at the ball.”
A cold sweat broke out across my skin.
“Meanwhile, a real, living person is enduring prolonged agony.”
My stomach lurched. I clutched my arms, bile rising in my throat. “This is sick. I had no idea. I thought the darkness had no weaknesses. I thought you had to kill every day to survive, to keep your strength. And that your original time traveler dagger could control you. But…” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know certain poisons could weaken you.”
Malik shrugged, his expression unreadable.
