Chapter 7 Confusion
Elena POV
The door opened, and Chloe walked in. Liam didn't hesitate; his face hardened into a mask of cold determination. He reached out, gripping Chloe’s wrist firmly but not cruelly, and pulled her toward the exit. Chloe didn't fight him, simply allowing herself to be led out into the street. The door clicked shut behind them.
I took a long, desperate gulp of water, finished it, and pushed the fridge door until it clicked shut.
I headed to the back room, remembering the soft fabric of the clothes Grandma had given me. I quickly changed into them, feeling a strange, grounding comfort in the simple threads she had pressed into my hands.
When I returned, the dining area was still empty. Liam had not returned. A restless, human energy bubbled under my skin, driving me toward the exit. I stepped out into the cool evening air, wandering aimlessly through the city streets, seeking some connection to the world I was now forced to inhabit.
I stopped when I saw a figure across the road. It was Malakor. In his former life, he had been a powerful angel of the heavens, a being of pure light and order, but now, he was a fallen, his silhouette draped in the shadows of the alleyway. He was leading a lingering spirit, a soul from the local hospital, toward the veil of the afterlife with an effortless, celestial grace. He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine, and in a blink, he vanished from the crosswalk and reappeared right at my side, the air around him turning freezing cold.
"Have you seen my black book?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He shook his head, his eyes empty. "No."
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs that terrifyingly loud, human sound. "How much longer do I have to live as a human?"
He looked at me, his expression cold as jagged ice. "Until we find the solution."
"If we fall, will I die?" I asked, my fear growing with every passing second.
He paused, his gaze unreadable, reflecting a void I used to know too well. "I guess."
"I will die?" I asked, shock washing over me. I grabbed his sleeve, looking at him with a desperate, pleading face. "Please, Malakor. You have to find the solution for me. I don't want to fade away like this."
He ignored my plea, his eyes shifting away from me toward the street. A motorbike suddenly roared toward us, careening wildly out of control. The rider was reckless, aiming directly for where I stood on the edge of the curb. I froze, the metal machine hurtling toward me at a speed that felt like a death sentence.
Without a second thought, Malakor flicked his wrist. An invisible shockwave of celestial force erupted from his hand, slamming into the motorcycle’s front wheel. The bike bucked like a wild animal, spinning violently out of control before it crashed into a concrete barrier on the other side of the street, sparks flying in a chaotic, fiery display. The rider skidded across the asphalt, but the impact had been diverted away from me.
Always remember this. "You are not human," he said, his voice sharp as a blade. These mortals are fragile, and you are playing a game you cannot win."
"I am sorry," I called out.
He stopped, turning his head just enough to look at me. "For what?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That you have become human?"
"I don't know," I replied, my voice thick with regret. "I am just sorry for everything." My heart was beating fast, replaced by a deep, hollow sadness. Just as I spoke
His book burst into flames, the pages curling into ash, a sign of a new task. "I will find the book," he promised, and then he vanished into the shadows.
I walked back through the city, my mind a blur of Malakor’s warnings. When I finally reached the restaurant, Grandma was standing near the entrance, her expression stern as she wiped her hands on her apron.
"Where have you been wandering off to?" she asked, not breaking her rhythm. She gestured toward the counter with a sharp nod. "Liam’s phone has been ringing off the hook for the last few minutes. Take it to him; he’s in his room."
I grabbed the buzzing device and hurried toward the living quarters. The hallway was quiet, the wooden floorboards creaking under my feet. I pushed open the door to Liam's room, expecting to find him hunched over his desk or resting on his bed, but the room was vacant. His jacket was draped over the chair, and his bag was tossed haphazardly on the floor, but he wasn't there.
I turned to leave, thinking he might have stepped out again, when a sound caught my ear. It was muffled but unmistakable—the steady, rhythmic splashing of running water coming from behind the bathroom door.
Without a second thought, driven by a simple, innocent desire to deliver the phone, I walked toward the door. I didn't knock; I didn't hesitate. I reached out, turned the handle, and pushed the door open, the hinges creaking slightly in the quiet house.
"Liam, your phone has been—"
The words died in my throat. I stood frozen in the doorway, my eyes wide.
The room was thick with steam. Liam stood in the center of the small space, startled, his skin glistening with water. He was completely caught off guard. In a flash of panicked movement, he spun away, his hands dropping down instinctively to shield himself from my sight.
I blinked, confused. I didn't understand the sudden frantic energy in the room, only that he seemed to be hiding something vital. I stared, my head tilted to the side, my voice small and genuinely puzzled.
"Liam? Why are you—"
He didn't let me finish. His face went from pale to a deep, burning crimson, and he let out a shout that echoed off the tiled walls, a sound of absolute, desperate mortification.
"Elena, get out!" he roared, "I said get out—don't you dare take another step!"