“Have you heard of a woman named Alina?”
Her head jerked up, as if struck by lightning. “Alina?”
“Yes, yes. Alina Tocino. She’s a student at McMont College.”
Scarlett blinked, her brow furrowing. “There are a lot of people at McMont College, Baltha—sir?—”
My hand lashed out before I realized it, clamping down on her shoulder like a vice. “Don’t call mesir!”
Her breath hitched. “Okay! Alright—Balthazar! Your name is Balthazar!” she gasped, shrinking back from my grip. “Is she… your daughter?”
“What? No!” I shot to my feet, fury seething just beneath my skin.
But the second I looked down at her—small, trembling, still trying to understand why the man she’d invited into her home had turned into a monster—I froze.
She had only ever shown me kindness.
And I had nearly crushed her for it.
I turned away, dragging in long, uneven breaths. I clenched my fists until the rage bled from my limbs, leaving only shame behind.
“I apologize,” I said at last, returning to her. “My anger… gets the better of me. I’ve had a rather trying day.” I forced a smile. “Alina and I are old friends. We lost touch, and I need to speak with her. It’s… important.”
Scarlett studied me, and then, as if flipping a switch, her face lit up again. “It’s okay. I know what it’s like to stress out and lose your shit.”
Lose your shit?
Before I could ask, she hopped to her feet and grabbed her bag.
“You stay put,” she said with an exaggerated wag of her finger, her voice far too cheerful for someone who’d just been manhandled. “I have class. Don’t you dare stroke out on me.”
Then she breezed out the door.
Stroke out?
I stared at the closed door, bewildered. What kind of language was that? What kind of era was this?
Before I could ponder further, pain speared through my chest like a blade. I collapsed onto the floor, gripping myself with white-knuckled desperation as the agony ripped through me again. The cold floor bit into my skin, but I hardly noticed. All I could feel was the darkness closing in—creeping at the edges of my vision like a tide I couldn’t hold back.
I curled onto my side, rolling back and forth as the shriek of those metal beasts—cars, they called them—roared by outside the window. The world of 1990 was madness. And worse, it was robbing me of everything. Of my strength. My purpose. My vengeance.
What was this curse that held me back from reaching Alina? From claiming the blades? From finding Freya?
Still trembling, I forced myself upright and staggered through the apartment like a wounded animal. My skin prickled with cold sweat as I approached the window.
And there he was.
That man, the same specter who’d stared me down before withsoulless gray eyes, was watching again, calm but menacing, his presence coiled like a trap about to spring.
Despair hit me like a hammer.
The man tilted his head, gave a shake of disapproval, and vanished into thin air.
“No!” I roared.
I slammed my fist into the wall, splintering plaster and cracking the bones in my knuckles. The wall crumbled beneath my blow. I sank to the ground, shoulders slumped, and let the silence swallow me.
I had to form a plan—something to regain control. I couldn’t go on like this—battered and powerless.
