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As we return to the apartment, it's heated chaos. Nilam, Kadri, and Lav argue over something in the kitchen, and they don't pay much attention to us even when Ady carries Jasna into the living room and lowers her onto the velvet sofa.

I've been searching for the right words to talk to Ady and Mir for two hours while we were in the car, and I still came up with nothing. If I asked them, straightforwardly, they would have just invented another lie to throw me off my balance.

I still have no idea who has hidden my bones. Was it Ady? But Mir wouldn't have confided his secret about knowing Vlad to Ady if he hadn't trusted Adélard. Mir calculates everything--every possibility, every win, every failure.

Slipping my hand into the pocket of my jacket, I squeeze the piece of my skull and cross to the window, while Adélard tucks a blanket around his sister's shoulders. The room is dim, and I can see the street outside perfectly. It's dark and empty.

Where are you, Bogdan?

A strange thing happened when we returned from the morgue. I knew Bogdan was watching us. I didn't exactly see him in the alley behind this very apartment building, yet I sensed that descending cold shift of the wind I'd sensed it in the pantry when I'd met him. And I saw Mir's reaction. Mir sensed magic, his scar answered to it, etching a grimace of pain upon his face, and now he's retreated to his room once again--to drink another vial of reverse elixir to subdue his powers, no doubt.

A ghost wouldn't be able to affect one's magic. And I never could see ghosts, that wasn't my power! This city must be crowded with restless spirits, so why would see a particular one, then?

I clutch my bone harder, its sharp edges digging into my palm. What have you done, Dan? The street is still empty, no matter how long I try to focus my vision on the shadows.

I only saw Bogdan when magic was around, didn't I? On the rooftop, when Mir mixed a drink with a binding spell. At the basilica, when I was drunk on his reverse elixir. At the restaurant, in the pantry brimming with sorcery stuff.

Where's the demon? I asked Bogdan.

Ask Mir.

I shudder at the realization, suddenly cold, even though the air in the room is warm. My best friend is a demon. Then what if... what if Vlad isn't the demon who killed me? Because Vlad isn't the demon Mir suppresses his powers to hide from. Bogdan is.

Bogdan is the serial killer whose soul I'm supposed to destroy tomorrow, isn't he? That's why Mir has never told me the truth, he knew I'd never agree to this.

Footsteps stomp down the hallway, and turning around, expecting to see Mir and confront both him and Ady with what I've just realized, I open my mouth to speak--and then cut myself off. Nilam stands in the doorway of the living room, his expression angry and pained at once.

Adélard blinks at him, confused. "What happened?"

"Laverna happened," Nilam growls, rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie as he walks over and drops in the armchair. "She knocked the pot with the potion off, when she was trying to--" He grimaces, showing us his tattooed forearm, red with a scald. "I don't know, make some coffee? I tried to catch it and ended up splashed."

"Does it hurt?"

"It does, Lishan! Do you know where Mir keeps bandages or something?"

"No, but I'll go ask him."

When Adélard's back vanishes in the hall, I watch Nilam struggle with the cap of a small jar of burn ointment he's brought with him from the kitchen. He tries to unscrew it without moving his injured hand much, and hisses every time his skin stretches.

"Let me." I perch on the chair's arm and reach out for the jar. It's nice to be helpful for once, to do something I really can do. Unlike destroying my best friend's soul.

"Thanks." Nilam sounds less exasperated as he glances up at me. And then he laughs, rather to camouflage his pain than to really laugh.

Like the rest of the apartment, the living room resembles an old picture: paneled walls, a pompous chandelier overhead, the legs of the sofa and chairs carved out of dark wood. And Nilam doesn't fit into this old picture, with his rebellious tattoos and bold glint of his eyes. I guess I still don't fit, either--but I think I like it now. I don't want to fit it, I realize. Not anymore. I'm done pretending, done trying to belong and explain my choices. I've never been happy that way, but I am now--maybe not happy still, but content, flawed, and accepted with all my flaws. At least, beside Nilam.

Now I wonder if that's what Bogdan thought when he decided that magic was worth losing his humanity. Did he feel like he didn't belong after he had learned about my powers? Was it his way of leaving the life that wasn't enough for him behind? Or was it always about getting revenge on me? He thought I betrayed him when I chose magic, so he betrayed me in return.

But I always believed that the killer was an ancient demon, the first witch's son who was born a demon, who had no feeling from the very beginning. Who never knew what love was--or friendship. Even if Bogdan feels nothing now, doesn't memory count? How could he let me burn in cold blood?

"She looks peaceful," Nilam says, nodding at Jasna's silvery curls. "I guess she'll be pissed, though, when she wakes up tomorrow and learns she's spent the last few weeks at a morgue."

"I won't tell her if you don't." Dipping my fingertip into the ointment, I touch Nilam's hot skin. He winces.

"Deal."

For a minute, we fall silent. I'm well aware that Nilam watches me rubbing the oily substance into the ink lion's head covering his forearm. I'm not sure I've sat this close to him before. The armchair is big enough for the two of us, yet I feel like I'm intruding into his personal space.

Nilam doesn't seem to mind.

"Don't worry about the potion, by the way," he says when my fingers reach his elbow. "We didn't need the whole pot, a few drops will be enough for your blood to work for the trap spell."

"Good." Not good. I can't do it, I have to tell Mir I can't kill Dan.

"I mean it, Yara." Nilam's jaw flexes, serious, and he stops my fingers, covering my hand with his. "Don't drink more than a spoonful. Magic can be unpredictable, and any kind of potion can be equally the best and the worst kind of medicine. I've never had a chance to see how the Bloodcage potion works, and I definitely don't want to make you a guinea pig." He hesitates, his expression easing. He smiles. "I grew to care about you, Slavich."

"That's--" I trail off, suddenly embarrassed. I've never felt that before. Surely, I've had people who worried and cared about me--Mom and Sister, and Bogdan--once--but... Nobody ever sounded that candid. I care about you. A wave of warmth kindles in my chest. It turns out the words spoken aloud do matter, even when you knew their meaning before. "Thanks."

Nilam's sleeve, although rolled up, doesn't reveal the whole skin that needs tending, and he stands up, pulling his hoodie over his head. "Wait a second." As he tosses the hoodie away, revealing his flawlessly white t-shirt beneath, I catch a glimpse of something tucked behind the belt of his jeans.

A gun.

The sight of it leaves my throat dry. "What's that for?"

Nilam only shrugs, sliding back onto the velvet cushion. "Magic is good, magic and a gun is better, right? Everyone wants to stay alive at the end of the day." He says it casually, calmly, the way only Nilam can. If it was someone else I saw carrying a gun, I would have freaked out. I saw those things being used, I experienced it the night I died. They hurt. A lot.

What if it's Nilam who's the traitor helping Dan? My treacherous mind whispers. You always like the wrong guys, Yara, and don't pretend that you don't like being here and now with Nilam. Nilam knows about magic more than anyone, he could even deceive Mir. What if those solicitous eyes in front of you are lying?

Shifting in the armchair, careful so that my knees don't touch Nilam's, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. His long face, full lips, and a strange spark in his greenish-blue eyes that reminds me only of...longing? He still looks at my fingers smeared with ointment, and I realize he expects me to keep doing what I've been doing--he wants me to keep doing what I've been doing.

To tend his scald. To touch him.

I swallow. I'm being paranoid now. Nilam hated the very idea of me when I was resurrected. But then I've earned his trust, and he's earned mine. I'm not that stupid girl who fell in love with a monster once.

"How are we going to do it exactly, tomorrow?" I ask, shooing my thought away.

"There's an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city," Nilam says. "I used to host parties there a few years ago, before I settled for the basement that is my club now. We take Jasna to the warehouse tomorrow, I'll perform some spell, something simple, just to spread the smell of magic around. All previous murders happened after the victims used magic, and since Jasna's already been hunted, that should be enough to draw the killer's attention."

"And the potion?"

"You drink it for your blood to work for the Bloodcage, and wait for the killer. Once our villain is trapped and has nowhere to run, you'll be able to get close and break the Soulwrecker." He nods. "And it's done. The evil soul destroyed."

"But you and all others have to be far enough from the warehouse at the moment, right? In her state, Jasna's immune to magical harm, and I have my pendant." I lick my dry lips. "But if the Soulwrecker's magic reaches you, for one--"

"My soul perishes, too, yes."

It's worse than death. No afterlife. I swallow the lump in my throat. "Delightful."

Nilam chuckles, watching my fingers rub another portion of ointment into his skin. "I've never been scared of dying, Yara. After what happened to my parents, I just...accepted it? As a part of the game, especially when it comes to magic. I never liked that part, but accepted. When you know it all can end any moment, you start cherishing your life, you know?"

"Only magic is always about death."

"No." His voice is so abrupt and unwavering it shocks me. Nilam sees my confusion, and frowns. "Magic, as such, is nothing but energy. Power. Power is neither good nor bad, Yara. It can be none--it can be both. And power is never used without a reason. It's always fueled by one's feelings. Magic makes your emotions sharper, but it doesn't produce them. You do. If you're scared, you involuntarily tend to push people away, because you think they'll hurt you, right?"

My hand stops. "What are you saying?" I made people fear me on purpose?

"Magic does the same," he says. "Tell me, are you afraid of Mir when he's around?"

I shake my head.

"Why? He stifles his magic, but he still possesses it. He does have this air about him, arrogance, confidence. Power."

"Because I know of his magic?" But I didn't know at first, and I wasn't scared of him still. Nilam is right. Oh, no. The nape of my neck nervously prickles at the thought. Laverna doesn't know how it feels to be around someone with magic in their veins, she doesn't know about Mir's scar or his powers. Yet, she's drawn to him like a lost ship searching for a lighthouse. She confuses power for safety, that's why she thinks she's in love with Mir.

Nilam looks into my eyes, his gaze soft. "It's never magic or some eerie dark abilities that disturb people, Yara. It's your strength. The only thing magic grants you is strength. And only if you're a small person with a rotten heart--who envies that power and wishes to possess it to hurt others--you would think that the powerful others want to hurt you first."

My chest tightens. He's right, it makes sense. Nobody was actually scared of me in Blakfait from the day I had my scar. Everyone started casting me weird glances only after that unfortunate incident at school, when I used my powers publicly to threaten a girl bullying me. And I remember the little girl buying ice cream, whose mother dragged her away from me. It wasn't magic, it was simple worry for her daughter talking to a stranger, wasn't it?

That's why Qing and Wayra weren't scared of me, either. And all the strangers in the streets? Sure, they looked at me suspiciously--because I looked suspicious glancing at them first. And my imagination invented the rest: that I was cursed, that I was a branded criminal and didn't fit in.

That I was guilty.

That's why Mir sounded so surprised at the garage when I told him that magic was dangerous—it wasn't, not for him. Till that moment he believed I was lying about killing people. He thought I killed on purpose and pretended to be innocent.

"I'm not broken." The words roll off my tongue before I can stop them.

Nilam blinks, confused. "Of course, you're not. You're incredible." He takes my hand in his, the sticky ointment smudging our fingers, but he doesn't seem to care. Instead, he pulls my hand toward his face and rests it against his cheek. My eyes following his motion, I find myself staring into his eyes again. His pupils twinkle in the dimness of the room, as he says, "You're not broken, Yaroslava. A mirror can be broken, a gem simply has too many facets for some to understand and appreciate."

Oh, Angels. I see why Laverna was in love with Nilam. She made a wrong choice, though. It's not Mir, it's Nilam who can offer safety.

"Tomorrow we'll use magic to save lives," he says. "It makes magic good, right? You'll be a hero, and everything else doesn't matter."

"And you don't think that magic makes us monsters?"

"Who said monsters couldn't be heroes?" Pressing my hand against his cheek, Nilam's other hand reaches out to my own cheek now, his thumb brushing the corner of my lips. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. This idea is disturbing and comforting at once. With someone good and honest and caring, for a change.

Only now do I realize how close we sit to each other--too close, the armchair isn't that big after all. I can count inches between us. But...I don't want to spend time counting and worrying. I want to live. I deserve it.

Nilam shifts an inch closer to me, his hand on my cheek edging toward my lips. "May I kiss you, Yara?"

I don't know if it's his voice, or his gaze, or his unconditional faith in me, but..."Yes."

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P.S. Author's here!

Don't throw tomatoes at me, I know this chapter's emotions went REALLY different way from where you expected (or Yara expected?)

Here are some amazing aesthetics sharmee_m created for Mir VS Vlad. Many thanks to her beautiful imagination and creativity! If you love intricate worldbuilding, complicated relationships, and charming villains, do run and check her story as well! 🖤