I finish chewing and set the rest of my burrito down, giving him my full attention.
“What do you mean you don’t want me to worry? Remember, we’re being honest with each other now.” I cross my arms and give him a pointed look. “Besides, I’m no delicate flower. I’m a demon and can handle whatever shit you’re about to drop on me.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. He doesn’t laugh, but I get a small quirk of his lips that counts as progress.
“I’m serious, Kat. I’m worried that if what you saw on that surveillance footage is real, which I have no reason to believe it’s not, then Irina may be actively trying to have you eliminated. And I just hand delivered you right to her doorstep.”
The thought has definitely crossed my mind as well but hearing him voice it makes it feel more real and threatening.
“Look at it this way, if I die tonight, at least I’llfinally get some peace and quiet,” I say with deliberate lightness. “No more spirits popping up in my bed to give me cryptic riddles and a heart attack.”
“That’s not funny,” he says, though I catch the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“Then, how about this? If I die tonight, I’ll come back as a really pissed-off ghost and make her life miserable,” I say.
He shakes his head at my terrible attempts to lighten the mood, but I can see some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it,” I counter. “But seriously, walk me through your theory. Why would Irina want me dead? It has crossed my mind too. After seeing that side of her in the footage.”
“Think about it logically,” he says, his analytical mind taking over. “If she wants me to become some future savior figure for the Syndicate to eventually put in power, then having you in the picture seems like a major liability. A distraction that compromises her plans.”
His eyes search the room. “Hell, it’s entirely possible she’s the one who tipped off Orin about where to find you at the cabin when I went to get the car.”
“Okay, that’s a disturbing thought,” I admit. “But wouldn’t killing me defeat the whole future savior plan. I mean, you’d be devastated, right?”
“She knows for certain now that I won’t let my father have you back. She knows I’d never stop fighting for you as long as you’re breathing.”
“So the logical solution is to eliminate the breathing part and remove the obstacle,” I finish for him with mock cheerfulness.
“Katja, this isn’t a joke,” he says, though there’s exasperation rather than anger in his voice. “I’m trying to tell you I wont let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you.”
I press my finger gently to his lips, then crawl onto his lap, running my hands through his brown hair and down his stubbled jaw. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Promise me,” he says seriously, his hands finding my waist.
“I promise to be such an annoyingly persistent pain in everyone’s ass that they’ll regret ever trying to kill me,” I say with a grin. “Now, stop stressing and kiss me. We still have today.”
And Malachi has never been one to waste an opportunity.
ChapterSixteen
LOG SIXTEEN – THRESHOLD CROSSED: WITH THE VACCINE PREPARED FOR TRIALS, THE SUBJECT’S EVOLUTION ACCELERATES BEYOND PRECEDENT.
The moment we step inside,the sheer scale of the place steals my breath. It’s not like the large private estates I’m used to seeing. This is on an entirely different level of grandeur. The entire space is decorated in warm golds, deeply polished woods, and rich jewel tones that speak of old money and established power.
But the first thing my eyes lock onto is the absolute marvel at the room’s center, a massive carousel-shaped bar. Golden pillars rise from the floor up toward the vaulted ceiling, each one hand painted and carved with brilliant, swirling images of colorful carousel horses frozen mid-gallop, their painted manes caught in some imagined wind. The artistry is so vivid and lifelike it looks like the horses might leap free from their golden prisons at any second.
The bar itself is a perfect circle, crowned with a smooth marble countertop that gleams like liquid gold under the amber lighting. A ring of intricately carved barstools surrounds it, each one completely unique, their high-rounded backs carved and painted to resemble different animals. As Malachi weavesus through the elegantly dressed crowd, stopping to exchange pleasantries with someone whose name I immediately forgot, I get a closer look at the incredible craftsmanship.
I spot a prowling tiger with emerald eyes, a soaring falcon with wings spread wide, and a graceful koi fish with scales that shimmer in the light. The details are so fine you can see individual feathers and the gleam of painted eyes that follow you as you move.
And the most incredible part is that the whole thing rotates slowly. The entire bar moves in a measured circle, smooth as clockwork, carrying bartenders and guests around in a slow parade of pure opulence. It’s absolutely stunning, clearly designed to be the heart of this glittering social ecosystem.
Beyond the rotating centerpiece, scattered like precious jewels on black velvet, are clusters of small round tables topped with softly glowing lanterns. Their golden light creates intimate pools perfect for hushed conversations among the corrupt people of this event.
In one far corner, I notice high stakes–gambling tables where chips and cards represent more money than most people see in their lifetimes. The cause they’re supposedly raising funds for tonight is probably an elaborate ruse to justify this display of excess.
“Nice to meet you,” I say politely, catching the tail end of Malachi introducing me to a distinguished man with short curly gray hair. Nothing important, only the kind of small talk that oils the wheels of high society.
