"I can't reach Margie. I believe she's gone back to school."
Tessy stood near the window. Late twenties. Dark hair. Sharp features. She spoke carefully.
The man sitting across the room didn't look at her.
He was refined. Polished. White hair combed back. Red eyes that held no warmth. Two horns curved up from his temples.
Valentine Lucifero.
Father of Margie.
In this form, he looked no older than twenty-five. Clean-shaven. Relaxed. But his eyes gave him away. They were ancient. Cold.
He tapped a finger on the armrest.
"Send someone to the college. Bring my daughter to me."
Tessy nodded.
Valentine's eyes narrowed.
"She might be in danger from her mother. I know how much Margaret hates me. She might transfer that hatred to Margie. And now that the boy didn't die from that stunt we pulled, her hatred will only get worse."
He paused.
"How did the boy survive?"
Tessy shook her head.
"That guy? I doubt it. Those people don't dwell long in this world. They see it as a backwater. Their own realm is enough for them."
Valentine frowned deeply.
His mind drifted back.
Eighteen years ago.
---
The boy was three years old.
Small. Dark hair. Big eyes. He didn't cry. He just looked around with quiet curiosity.
Valentine had taken him from Margaret's estate. Easy enough. A distraction here. A sleeping spell there. The boy didn't even fuss.
Now they stood in a clearing. Trees all around. No roads. No houses. No witnesses.
Valentine looked down at the child.
In this form, he looked like a middle-aged human. Gray at the temples. Lines around the eyes. No horns. No red eyes. Just a man in a dark coat.
The boy looked up at him.
"Where's Mommy?"
Valentine didn't answer.
He raised his hand.
A blade of shadow formed between his fingers. Sharp. Silent. Ready.
The boy tilted his head.
"You have pretty eyes."
Valentine paused.
Then he shook his head.
"Nothing personal, boy. You're just in the way."
He drew his arm back.
A voice came from behind him.
"Lower the hand."
Valentine spun.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing. No coat. No weapon. Just a figure in simple clothes. His face was hard to look at. Not blurry. Just... unremarkable. The kind of face you forget the moment you look away.
Valentine's eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer.
He walked forward. Slow. Casual.
Valentine raised the shadow blade.
"I asked you a question."
The man kept walking.
Valentine swung.
The blade passed through empty air.
The man was already behind him.
Valentine turned. Too slow.
A hand grabbed his wrist. Squeezed.
The shadow blade dissolved.
Valentine tried to pull away. He couldn't. The grip was like iron. Like the man's fingers were welded to his bone.
"Let go."
"No."
Valentine snarled. His disguise flickered. Horns pushed through his temples. His eyes turned red. His skin paled.
The man didn't flinch.
"You're not from this world," Valentine hissed.
"No," the man said. "I'm not."
He squeezed harder.
Valentine's wrist cracked.
He screamed.
The man released him. Valentine stumbled back. His hand hung at a wrong angle.
"You will not harm the child."
Valentine laughed. Bitter. Painful.
"Why? What is he to you?"
The man looked at the boy. The boy was watching them both with those quiet eyes.
"Nothing yet," the man said. "But he will be."
He picked up the child. The boy wrapped his arms around the man's neck.
"Are you a friend?"
The man's face softened. Just a little.
"Yes."
He turned and walked away.
Valentine lunged.
The man didn't look back. He just waved his hand.
A wall of force slammed into Valentine. He flew backward. Hit a tree. The trunk cracked. He fell to the ground.
He tried to get up. His legs wouldn't move.
The man and the child disappeared into the trees.
Valentine lay there. Broken wrist. Broken ribs. Broken pride.
He didn't move for a long time.
---
The man carried the boy for hours.
Through the woods. Across a field. Down a dirt road.
At dawn, they reached a farmhouse.
The man knocked.
An old woman opened the door. She looked at the boy. Then at the man.
"Who's this?"
"A child who needs a home."
The woman frowned.
"His parents?"
"Gone."
The woman studied the boy. The boy studied her back.
"What's your name, little one?"
The boy smiled.
"Lucian."
The woman looked at the man.
"You're not from around here."
"No."
"Will you be back?"
The man looked at the boy. Then at the horizon.
"Maybe."
He set the boy down. The boy grabbed his hand.
"Will I see you again?"
The man knelt. He touched the boy's forehead. A faint light flickered.
"Someday."
Then he stood. Walked away.
The boy watched him go.
The old woman picked him up.
"Well, Lucian. Let's get you some breakfast."
---
Present day.
Valentine's phone buzzed.
He blinked. The memory faded.
He picked up the phone.
"Lucian."
He said the name like it tasted bad.
Tessy looked at him.
"Sir?"
Valentine stood up.
"Find out everything about the boy. Now."
Tessy nodded and left.
Valentine looked out the window.
The sun was setting.
Somewhere out there, the boy who should have died was alive.
And the man who saved him was still out there too.
Waiting.
---
Lucian's phone rang.
He was in his dorm room. The twin blades leaned against the wall.
He picked up the phone.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"Hello?"
"Lucian? It's Mark. Your class rep."
Lucian frowned.
"How did you get my number?"
"Student directory. Look, I just wanted to remind you about the study group tomorrow. You seemed... distracted in class."
Lucian almost laughed.
"Right. The study group."
"Yeah. Seven PM. Library. Don't be late."
"I'll try."
Mark hung up.
Lucian set the phone down.
He looked at his blades.
Then he looked out the window.
"Things are going to get pretty serious from now on."