Chapter 5 CALLAN
CALLAN
A bullet to the heart.
“Christ.” My quiet whisper drifted into the air like smoke, then got lost in the hum of the afternoon traffic.
I shouldn’t have come here. This was one of my many bad ideas.
I hadn’t slept a wink in 96 hours. Every nerve in my body was rioting for rest, solitude. I should curl into a comfortable position and sleep. But here I was, standing in front of the largest convention hall just outside of Aldross.
Through the door, the chaos inside continued to spill out in waves. Crowds of people, hundreds of them in gaudy colors, made the room look like a rainbow had detonated. The air was a kaleidoscope of giggles and laughter. Too loud. Too much. Just too much.
What was I doing here?
I felt my fingers twitch, and I swiftly tucked one hand into my pocket, the other clenching the book I was carrying, my nails digging into the spine just to feel something solid beneath my touch.
Books.
For me, they were the only things that made the most amount of sense in a world filled with disorder. That and drawing, watching the stars, solving puzzles.
On some days, I spent my time locked up in my office with the whisper of pen on paper keeping me company. On different days, I would travel from one city to another, on repeat, tens of times. All to ensure the stability of the empire I was asked to run…temporarily, they had said.
And when all things were in order, though hardly, I would take the night off to sketch if I had the inspiration to, or find solace between the pages of books.
Maleficium, a book by an author called Donna Copeland, was my last read.
Usually, it was difficult for a book to leave a long-lasting mark on me.
But this one did. I never bothered unsubscribing when I discovered I had somehow subscribed to the author’s newsletter last week.
Then, three days ago, an email landed within the junks in my inbox.
There was a book event, and the author was coming. And she planned on signing some copies of her most recent release.
That was how I got here.
And now I regretted it. Every single bit of it.
Raids, debt-collecting and commanding an army of men? Those things I could do. But willingly placing myself in the middle of a crowd? I would rather pass.
I turned slightly, my gaze travelling to the black car parked a few feet away, looking so out of place, too flashy for such a simple atmosphere.
One of my soldiers stood beside the car, his stance alert, eyes sweeping the area for any threats.
With the note Zaghan, my twin brother left for me two weeks ago; Be careful down in Braemont. Some fucker tried to kill me; I should have probably not come at all. Braemont and Aldross were just a couple of minutes away from each other.
Coming here wasn’t more important than my safety. But I was curious. What does a book signing look like? Quite foolish, if you asked me. Curiosity killed the cat, they said. Imagine being gunned down by an assassin because I wanted to get my book signed?
But it was too late to start weighing options. I was already here. Might as well get it done with.
I took a deep breath and straightened. Then recited my internal mantra. ‘A soldier should never flinch in front of a crowd.’ ‘A soldier should never flinch in front of a crowd….’
One step, two steps, three…I kept going. And by the sixth one, I was stepping through the revolving glass door.
But the second the door swung shut, closing me in, my blood ran cold and my body stiffened.
No, no, no. Callan, no.
The noise swelled, pressing against my skull. I tried to move, but my legs seemed rooted to the floor.
The walls, pristine and white, seemed to contract, shrinking around me. I stood frozen still, drowning in the sheer volume of bodies like a lone, armless soldier dropped into the middle of a battlefield.
My lungs tightened and my free hand raised, clawing at my chest. I tried to breathe, but the air was too thick, refusing to fill my chest in the desperate way I needed it to.
I could feel eyes watching me. My greatest worry. That alone made my pulse spike, knocking violently against my ribs, forcing heavy gasps out of my lips.
I was going to die here. Not at the war front from an enemy’s ambush. But at a damn bookstore from an anxiety attack.
How embarrassing.
“Hey, are you okay?” a soft voice suddenly murmured beside me.
My eyes snapped open and she was right there in front of me; a girl with hair like flames. Her eyes were enigmatic. They made me want to take a long walk in the great .
My heart skipped a beat, the luminous essence of her beauty blinding me. Never in my life had I come across something so unreal.
“It’s my first time, too.” Her voice was clinical, her hand slipping into mine, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
Her touch was gentle, yet it felt as if I had stepped into the heart of a powerful force field. A surge of energy rippled through me, like the largest electrical charge had just been conducted in my body–96,500 coulombs.
What was that? I wondered, my thoughts frantic. But what unsettled me even more was the craving, the inexplicable need for another dose of that raw, electrical power.
“Don’t.” My voice came out unintentionally harsh as I snatched my hand from hers. “Don’t touch me.”
No one was allowed to touch me…not without my permission.
Her smile faltered and something crossed her eyes that felt like a stab to my gut.
I tried to open my mouth to say something, a desperate attempt to take away the pain I must have unknowingly caused.
She was the one that touched me out of the blue.
I had no clue why I desperately wanted to apologise to her instead.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and in a second, the smile she lost rearranged back on her lips.
She glanced at the furthest part of the room where the crowd swam. “Honestly, I didn’t know it would be this much. I knew she was popular but seriously, it looks like a damn concert here. Ugh, this was such a bad idea. I should just have followed Ken…”
I stared at her as she spoke ten words per minute, unconcerned by my silence.
“Anyway.” She released what seemed like a final exhale as one prepared for a goodbye. “It was nice meeting you…again”
Again? Had we met before?
I wanted to ask what she meant. I didn’t have a bad memory unless due to some circumstances I was not proud of, by the way. But I was sure that if we had met before, I would have remembered her instantly. She didn’t have a face that could easily float behind memory.
“See you around, Snow white,” she said, and just like that, she was gone before I could muster up the courage to ask where she knew me from.
???
I stepped out of the building, my long strides measured and purposeful as I headed for my car.
My soldier straightened immediately at the sight of me, his eyes sharp as ever, ready to gun down any threat.
I didn’t acknowledge him, though. My focus was somewhere else, a movement in my peripheral vision. Quite subtle, yet enough to capture my attention.
My eyes flickered to the park bench nestled below a twin lamppost just outside the building.
And there she was. The girl from earlier. The two loose strands of her red hair that was styled into twin braids, framed her face. The wind tugged at the strands, letting them dance around her face before settling again.
She was hunched over something on her lap–a tablet, perhaps. And she looked absorbed, unaware of the world around her.
I should keep walking. I should slide into my car and leave. But I didn’t. I stood there and watched. And before I could restrain myself, my feet were heading in her direction.
Each step toward her was a mistake. I had no business approaching her. No business wanting to talk to her again because earlier, it had felt incredible.
And when the realisation that I was about to do the unthinkable dawned on me, it was too late. She already sensed a presence.
Her head snapped up, alert. Her green eyes met my amber ones, wide as if startled. But it only lasted for a second as the tension eased almost immediately, her lips curling into a warm smile.
“Oh, hey,” she said.
I hesitated, my throat dry. “Hey.”
“I didn’t know you were still in there.” Her voice was beautiful, soft, like a gentle kiss. Something about it clawed at me, as if reaching invisible hands into my soul, stirring up the very essence of me.
“I stepped out to make some calls,” I replied. “I ended up staying for long.”
She nodded, then gestured to the space beside her for invitation. But I didn’t sit. I shouldn’t. Instead, my eyes dropped to the tablet resting on her lap.
It was a digital canvas. A work in progress. She loved to draw, perhaps. Just like me. Maybe a different technique, a different style. But she drew, nonetheless. And I used to draw too. For some reason, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction. There was something we had in common.
She followed my gaze, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, I um, I like to paint.” A barely perceptible dent appeared on her left cheek, a subtle tint of red touching the curve of her neck.
Why was she turning red? That meant she was flushed, right? Embarrassed. But why would she be embarrassed?
“I’m currently working on a client’s commission.” Stylus latched between her fingers, she pinched the screen, zooming in and out, her lips in a pout. “It’s not looking so good. There’s a wrongness but I can’t seem to name it.”
I didn’t answer. And she kept staring at the artwork, still zooming in and out. I knew what the problem was. But if I said it, would it be offensive? Would that be invasive or just me being perceptive?
“I mean, the shading looks fine, right?” It seemed like a rhetorical question. She wasn’t looking at me when she asked. So I shouldn’t answer, right?
“The proportions are right also,” she continued. “I just don’t know why it’s not coming alive.”