He found himself standing before the door to her apartment once more.
He had not wished to.
His fists clenched at his sides, tendons pulling taut beneath pale skin.
What was he to do?
She had made it clear last time. She did not—
It’s my fault. I should have been honest with her from the start.
But what would he have told her? That, in fact, he was—
The door to her neighbour’s apartment opened.
Gregor emerged, stooped but composed, supported by his old, polished ashwood cane. The wood gleamed faintly beneath the corridor lights, its grain pale and deceptively smooth.
Sebastian’s breath caught.
Ash.
The memory was not invited, yet it came—
the scent of sap split open,
hands forcing him down,
the tremor of a human voice praying as it drove the sharpened shaft toward his chest.
For a suspended heartbeat, the cane was not a cane at all.
“Good afternoon, laddie.”
Gregor’s voice broke through the phantom echo. Courteous. Ordinary.
“So nice to see you again. I saw missie on her way in, not an hour ago.”
Sebastian forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He inclined his head but said nothing. His gaze lingered on the man’s grip — steady, unassuming — before Gregor began his slow walk toward the lift.
Tap.
Step.
Tap.
Step.
The rhythm followed Sebastian like a warning.
The chime of the lift sounded. The old man stepped inside. The doors slid shut.
Silence reclaimed the corridor.
Sebastian turned back to Celene’s door.
“Stay away from me.”
Of course, she had said that. Who wouldn’t? After all—
He exhaled slowly, though he had no true need for breath.
I can’t just leave her.
He knew better than to underestimate Hestia’s words—especially when they were dipped in venom.
“I’ll have her for lunch the minute she goes out that door.”
Damn her.
She will not.
Not while I draw even the illusion of life.
Each step toward Celene’s door felt as though iron shackles had clasped around his ankles. It had been centuries since movement had required effort. Yet now—
Now his limbs felt almost human.
He lifted his hand.
Knocked once.
Twice.
From within, muffled mews and the soft trill of purring.
He waited.
Silence.
His hand hovered again, suspended inches from the wood.
A faint shift from inside. The slide of fabric. A pause.
Then—
The lock turned.
The door opened.
A sharp intake of breath.
Her eyes widened. She recoiled, shoulders striking the wall behind her as though she expected him to lunge—to bare something she had not been meant to see.
Sebastian jerked his hand back instantly, palms open, as if the gesture alone could undo every fear he had given her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words rawer than he intended. “I should have told you…”