Chapter Text
The night had been a perfect kind of disaster, the kind that left your pulse thrumming and your mind spinning between exhilaration and exhaustion. It started in the dim, humming underworld of an illegal protocore auction, the floor beneath your heels gleamed, polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the glow of crystalline chandeliers that hung like frozen constellations. The scent of spiced wine and perfumed silk clung to the air, mingling with the low murmur of voices, laughter edged with caution.
Your arm rested against Sylus’—a touch so effortless, yet electric in its simplicity. The tailored black dress you wore curved like ink over your frame, weightless and fluid, while he stood beside you, sculpted in darkness. The deep red of his jacket bled into the shadows, but the black briefs he wore beneath it only accentuated the power in his stance, the ease with which he carried himself—like a man who never questioned his place in the world.
You couldn't help stealing glances at him, your gaze drawn like a tide to the sharp cut of his jaw, the smirk that threatened to spill into something dangerous. He caught you, of course. He always did.
"Having fun, kitten?" His voice was velvet over steel, teasing, knowing.
You were. In a way. There was a thrill in being here, in being next to him. But tension coiled beneath your ribs, a familiar unease that never truly left you. Sylus had asked you to come without explanation, his words as elusive as smoke. The only clue he had given you was a name: Onychinus. A traitor.
You let the question slip from your lips anyway, even though you already knew the answer.
"So, what are we looking for?"
Sylus didn’t stop moving, didn’t even look at you. "We’re waiting."
For what, he wouldn’t say. But you knew better than to press. Sylus always played the long game.
Then the night shattered.
A bullet sliced the air, a sharp whistle before impact. Glass splintered, screams cut through the elegant murmur of the room, and suddenly, everything was fire and motion. Shadows lunged, bodies slammed into tables, chandeliers quivered above like trembling stars.
But fear had never touched you when Sylus was near.
He had pulled you through the chaos with that unshakable calm, his grip a brand against your skin, his presence an unyielding shield against the storm.
Your fingers ghosted over the strap at your thigh, finding the cold comfort of your own weapon. The weight of it was familiar, grounding. Smoothly, effortlessly, you drew it, exhaling through the static in your chest as you turned to Sylus.
"This is what we were waiting for?" you asked, voice dry despite the heat of adrenaline singing through your veins.
Sylus only smirked.
And then you saw it.
The gun, sleek and unholy in its intent, leveled at him from across the room. But Sylus was already in motion, a smirk curving against the madness as he sidestepped the shot before the trigger had even fully depressed. More bullets sang through the air, shattering porcelain, biting into gilded walls. The place dissolved into a mess of bodies scrambling for cover, and your pulse thrummed with something close to exhilaration.
Black and red tendrils unfurled from him like living smoke, writhing with predatory intent. The air thickened, heavy with static and something more, something ancient, something hungry. The assailants were lifted, their bodies wracked with terror as his power curled around them, suspending them in the air like marionettes on invisible strings.
One of them choked out a plea. It didn’t matter.
The room fell to a breathless hush, the only sound the eerie creak of Sylus' evol tightening its grip. And yet, through it all, he remained composed, his dark amusement flickering like embers in the ruin of the night.
You let out a sharp breath and turned, punching him hard in the arm.
"You asshole," you muttered, still buzzing with the aftermath of violence. "You knew there would be an assassination attempt."
Sylus barely flinched, a glimmer of satisfaction in his gaze as he tilted his head toward you. "And what better way to find traitors?" His voice was smooth, utterly unrepentant.
You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was no real heat behind it. Not for long, at least.
"Are you upset?" he asked, and it was impossible to miss the amusement lacing his words, more intrigued than concerned, like he found the idea of you being mad at him endlessly entertaining.
You sighed, lowering your gun. "I’m only mad that this all happened before they served dinner."
Sylus chuckled, dark and indulgent, before stepping closer—too close, close enough that you caught the faintest scent of smoke and something richer beneath it, something undeniably him. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he murmured, "That can be fixed."
So he took you to dinner. Just the two of you.
Leaving the twins handling the cleanup he took you back to Linkon, Sylus steered the bike through the neon-lit veins of the city. The wind cut through your dress, sharp and bracing, but the heat of him beneath your hands, solid, steady, undeniably real, was enough to keep you warm. Your arms tightened around his waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of his jacket as if you could hold onto something more than just the moment.
You should have been exhausted. The adrenaline should have burned itself out by now, leaving nothing but the ache of survival in its place. But it hadn’t. It still lingered, crackling beneath your skin, restless and insatiable.
The restaurant was dimly lit, tucked away from the world like a secret meant only for those who knew where to look. A bottle of wine sat between you, breathing, its scent curling with the faint traces of smoke that still clung to Sylus’ jacket. He leaned back in his chair, languid, watching you with that same quiet amusement he always carried. If there had been any trace of the violence from earlier, it had slipped from his skin like water, leaving only the version of him that you saw now, calm, unreadable, devastatingly composed.
He brought you home, the quiet hum of the city settling into the background. And yet, standing at your doorway, you found yourself not wanting the night to end. “Tea?” you asked, a stupid excuse to stretch the moment just a little longer.
Now, on the couch, the air between you was thick with something unspoken. The conversation wove on, meandering like the steam curling from your cups, but your attention wasn’t on the words anymore. You were close, so close. His scent, leather and something darker, laced with the faintest trace of wine, curled around you. When had the space between you disappeared? When had your knee brushed against his? When had his arm draped along the back of the couch, a barely-there touch against your shoulder?
You looked up, met his eyes. Deep, endless crimson, a flicker of something unreadable beneath their surface. You had learned to hold his gaze, had learned that he wouldn’t look away first.
“Thank you for dinner,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. “I hope you had fun.”
His lips curled at the edges, slow, deliberate. “I’m never bored when I’m with you, sweetie.”
And you hadn’t meant to look at his mouth. But you did. And once you had, you couldn’t seem to look anywhere else. The curve of it. The way his breath mingled with yours in the scant space between. The unbearable, impossible nearness of him.
His fingertips traced along your cheek, the touch featherlight, but it might as well have been fire. Your breath caught. Your pulse kicked against your ribs. He was so close, his presence consuming, his warmth slipping beneath your skin like something inevitable.
He was waiting. For you. For permission. For something neither of you could name.
Your lips parted.
And then—
You pulled back.
His hand remained, his palm still cradling your cheek, but he didn’t follow. Didn’t press. Just held you there, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. But something flickered beneath the surface.
A question. A realization.
The silence stretched, delicate, trembling. Then, slowly, he let his hand drop, the absence of his touch a colder thing than it should have been. Your skin still burned where his fingers rested against your cheek, a brand, a memory pressed into you. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t chased the space you put between you,
“Is it because of that doctor of yours?” His voice was unreadable, but in his eyes, no anger, no sharp edges. Just quiet disappointment.
Shock rippled through you, silent but absolute. Your breath caught, not because Sylus had asked the question, but because you had no answer. How did he know about Zayne? But of course, he knew. Of course, he did.
The realization settled over you like a weighted silence. You had caught Mephisto’s shadow trailing you more than once, his presence a whisper in the corners of your life. At first, it had unsettled you, felt like a line had been crossed, a boundary ignored. But then you understood. Sylus was never reckless, never careless. This wasn’t about control. It was protection, his way of standing guard over you without asking permission. So, of course, he knew. Of course, he had seen.
And he had.
Sylus had watched from the other side of a screen as you sat across from Zayne in a softly lit restaurant, laughter spilling from your lips as you nudged the doctor’s cheek with playful familiarity. He had seen the way your eyes softened, the way your fingers rested lightly on the table between you, so close to Zayne’s but never quite touching. First, the thought had crept in, uninvited and unwelcome, Would you ever look at him that way? Would you ever laugh so easily, touch him with such tenderness?
Then, darker thoughts had followed. Eliminate him. The idea took root in the sharp, instinctive part of Sylus that knew how to solve problems cleanly. A quiet disappearance, an accident, a missing person report that led nowhere. But Sylus had hesitated, not because of the man himself, but because of you . Because he had never wanted to see you suffer. And besides, Zayne wasn’t just anyone, he was one of the best cardiac surgeons in the country. He understood your condition, your fragility in ways Sylus never could. That alone made him untouchable.
So he waited. Hoped. Hoped that you would choose him, eventually. But deep inside, in the quietest corners of himself, he already knew— even if you didn’t, he would stay by your side,, because he had found you again and he wasn’t letting go.
“Sylus…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
He exhaled softly, shaking his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “It’s fine, kitten.”
He stood, the decision already made for both of you. He wouldn’t push. He never did. But as he moved toward the door, something in you panicked. You weren’t ready for the night to end like this, for him to slip away like smoke in the dark. Before you could think, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist.
He stilled. Turned. Waited.
What could you even say? That you wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but you couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Zayne? That you wanted to kiss Zayne, but you hadn’t, because Sylus was always there, lingering in your mind, in your heart, in the spaces between every choice you made?
You had known for a long time that you would have to choose, but the truth was you didn’t want to. You wanted them both, selfishly, impossibly.
You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, though even you didn’t know what words would come out. But before you could, Sylus moved first.
“I know,” he said, his voice low, steady. “It doesn’t change anything for me. Even if there’s someone else.” His fingers traced the edge of your jaw, the touch light, fleeting. “I just hope you feel the same about me.”
Then, without another word, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, light, fleeting, but it burned all the same. And then he was gone.