Chapter 29 #2
Scarlett turned, clearly amused. “Relax. It’s just the microwave. I made the mac and cheese last night,” she grinned. “I promise it won’t kill you.”
I gave a stiff nod, swallowing my confusion. Microwave. Another strange term in this baffling era.
A ding sounded, and she retrieved the now-steaming bowl, added a metal fork, then tore off a sheet from a dangling roll of thin paper.
“Here you go,” she said brightly, thrusting the bowl toward me. “And a napkin. Sorry, I don’t have anything fancier.”
I stared at the bowl of noodles swimming in a bright-orange sludge. It looked like melted wax or alchemical runoff. Still, I picked up the fork and cautiously prodded the mess before biting my lip.
The taste was… chemical. Velvety in a way that was unnatural. Thick, cloying, and eerily smooth. My body recoiled instinctively. I gagged, pushed the bowl aside, and wiped my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Scarlett didn’t seem offended. She sat beside me, tucking one leg beneath her. “That makes sense. You were in a lot of pain earlier. Are you feeling better?”
I turned to her and looked at her.
She was petite, but there was strength in her stillness.
Her eyes, warm and brown, reminded me of riverbanks at dusk—clear, calm, honest. They held no guile.
Her wavy hair fell down her back in chestnut streams, catching the light with every movement.
She smelled of honey, lemon, and something faintly floral, like petals crushed under sun-warmed stone.
There was sea salt, too, hidden in her hair like a memory of waves. Something wild. Untamed.
Her voice was soft but not weak—a quiet conviction threaded through each word. And when she smiled, it wasn’t the kind of smile meant to charm or seduce. It was meant to soothe, to anchor. It softened the harsh corners of the room, making the walls feel less like cages.
Then she blushed under my stare, lowering her gaze to her lap, her confidence retreating behind flushed cheeks.
I cut through the silence.
“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 me sir!”
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 with soulless 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.
When the door finally creaked open again, I had just managed to drag myself onto the lumpy sofa.
Scarlett stepped in limping. Her balance wavered, her right eye blackened, and the side of her face swollen. A fresh cut bled down her forehead, and she winced as she moved. She tried to smile, but her eyes—those tranquil, earthy eyes—were wide with pain and fear.
Rage ignited in my gut.
“Who did this to you?” I demanded.
Scarlett hesitated. Her eyes dropped, and her shoulders folded inward, as if she wanted to disappear into herself. The silence stretched, heavy and brittle.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “My ex… he got mad. Thought I was seeing someone else. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine. Her eye was nearly swollen shut. A cut still wept blood across her temple. Fury ignited inside me, cold and precise. Before I could respond, a violent pounding rattled the door.
“Scarlett! Open up!” a voice slurred from outside. “I know he’s in there!”
Scarlett turned to me, pale. “Go hide,” she said, her voice shaking.
I didn’t move. I was not some fragile thing that cowered in corners. I was darkness. I was wrath. And I would prove it.
I rose from the couch and wrenched the door with a thunderous slam.
A brute stood on the threshold, reeking of liquor and rage. His eyes landed on me, and his face twisted into something vile. “See?” he sneered. “Bitch! I knew it. You’ve got a man in there.”
I crossed the distance in a breath.
My hand clamped around his throat, lifting him into the air like a rag doll. His feet kicked and scraped uselessly against the doorframe as I pulled him into the apartment. His face shifted from fury to sheer terror.
“You fucking piece of filth,” I hissed. “You dare put your hands on a woman? You dare raise your voice in this home?”
His face turned purple. His mouth flapped like a dying fish, but no sound came out.
Scarlett screamed behind me. “Balthazar, stop! He’s drunk! He’s not worth it! Please!”
“There’s no excuse,” I growled. “Not for what he did to you.”
I slammed the door behind me and dragged him into the alley.
The bins overflowed with rotting waste and broken glass. Fitting.
There, beneath the streetlight, I ended him.
His dark and weak spirit tried to resist as I inhaled it. A surge of power ripped through my veins—cleansing, vital.
I tossed the body into the dumpster like discarded trash and stared up at the stars, my breath heaving in my chest.
I was still the darkness—still the blade in the night. And now, I remembered exactly what I was capable of.
When I returned, Scarlett was in the cramped toilet room, blotting the blood from her face with a damp cloth. She wouldn’t look at me.
“What did you do to him?” she asked, her voice tight.
“That man won’t be a problem anymore,” I said flatly. “I had a word with him. Let’s just say I made it very clear he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“You what?” Scarlett froze, the cloth dripping in her hand.
“It was just a warning,” I lied. “A threat. Nothing more.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and uneasy.
I couldn’t linger here—not in this cramped, broken world. I had to move. Had to find Alina.
“I should be going,” I said, already stepping toward the door.
Scarlett turned sharply. “No, please. Stay. I’ll help you find Alina. I promise.”
Her voice strained on the last word. There was fear behind her eyes, but also something else—guilt, maybe. Loneliness. The desperate urge to matter.
But I couldn’t stay.
She wasn’t part of this war.
And if I did stay, I might hurt her.
My gaze lingered on her for one final breath. Then I turned and left, stepping into the chill of the night.
Her solemn face stayed with me long after I disappeared into the dark.
But I had a mission.
I had to find Alina.
No matter the cost.