The car door opened to let a man inside. It was night, and his face remained hidden in shadow—but it didn’t matter. The woman waiting for him didn’t need to see it. She already knew. She had him mapped into the palm of her hand, and she could crush him whenever she wished.

  “You’re late,” she said. The shadows veiled her features, but one iris burned gold like a gem. The other lay hidden under a patch, black as an abyssal shroud. "Look at you, how shameful...How pathetic you are calling your owner."

  Her voice carried no urgency.

  “I imagine you must have something important to bring us, don't you? Don't make me waste more time, boy.”

  “I do,” the man answered, handing her a thick paper envelope.

  Lounging in her seat, her coat draped around her like a cape, she took it. Her skin was pale as milk, her nails red as fresh blood. She slit it open, and her one visible eye widened in a sudden ring of surprise.

  “Oh my…”

  She began to stroke the photo clipped to the file, tracing delicate lines with her fingertip across the lips.

  “I see why the hurry.” She tucked the pictures back into the envelope and laid it across her lap, tapping it lightly as if to press them deeper inside. “But for a busy man like you to summon us so suddenly… surely there’s more.”

  “...”

  A soft laugh escaped her. She leaned toward his ear.

  The man went rigid. Her breath was cold, without life—draining it instead. Sweat broke across his forehead as he held his breath.

  Like prey whispered to by a starving tiger.

  “Or perhaps you summoned me because you desire me. Don’t blame yourself if that’s the reason.” She laughed again, withdrawing to let him breathe. “Only one man has ever resisted my charms.”

  He adjusted his rectangular glasses.

  “And that man… has a daughter, Milady.” His voice was precise, surgical. He handed her a second envelope with a malicious smile.

  She tore it open with a blood-red nail, ripping the seam like a claw through soft flesh.

  “No… it can’t be.”

  A gasp slipped out, shattering her elegant mask. She leaned forward, her composure collapsing before what she saw in the photo.

  The man let her devour the images again and again. For long minutes she didn’t blink, lips parted, crimson. Finally she plucked one photo free and kissed it, smearing lipstick across the face.

  He cleared his throat.

  “I expect good pay.”

  She smiled with composure.

  “You shall have it.” With a snap of her fingers, black fire conjured a briefcase between them. He opened it, counted the bills, and smiled with pride—until his face darkened.

  “This is less than expected.” He fixed his glasses again.

  “Half,” she replied calmly. “You’ve only done the first part.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “This wasn’t the deal. I don’t handle the ‘other’ work.”

  Her laugh was quiet, sinister. She turned to the driver of the black SUV. “Take us to Knight’s & Fries.” She glanced at the man. “Seeing this made me hungry for meat.” She licked her lips, moistening them. He quickly averted his eyes, tugging at his collar.

  The driver nodded and pulled away. He was a skeleton, steering with bony hands. Silence filled the ride while the woman gazed at a single photo, smiling as if spellbound.

  The man’s nerves tightened. His pay wasn’t just cut—it came with no order to leave. Sweat streaked his forehead. He tugged at his collar again, desperate for air, though the backseat was cool. He didn’t dare ask permission to go.

  Defying her now would be pointless. A wrong word, a wrong gesture, a protest… and he’d never be found again.

  “Why did I ever think the money would be worth this…?”

  Regret struck him like a bat to the skull.

  The gentle sway of the SUV through the city’s sleepless capital streets turned his stomach. Not from weakness, but from the knowledge: these people were dangerous. She was dangerous.

  They finally rolled up to the fast-food autodrive. Black flames engulfed the jawless skeleton, reshaping him into a well-dressed gentleman with ordinary flesh.

  When a teenage cashier with acne and braces leaned from the window, the woman spoke—though the driver’s lips moved with hers, syncing word for word. Her voice slipped through his, perfectly timed, though his was just that of an ordinary man.

  “One Warrior’s Bacon combo, triple meat,” she said through him, cheek resting lazily against her hand, elbow on the door, eyes locked on the glowing menu.

  The boy inhaled sharply to keep from drooling as he scribbled the order.

  “Uh… what size?” he asked flatly.

  The woman turned to her companion.

  “Large… please.” Her stare held him, forcing the driver to echo her words.

  Large, like the mistake he’d made the moment he contacted them.

  The SUV crawled forward, but his heart refused to move. He knew he was in too deep now, no way out. He was only ever meant to sell information—not deal with what followed. He didn’t care to know. But now escape was impossible. He didn’t even dare glance at the golden eye beside him, sharp as a dagger pressed against his throat.

  The bag arrived through the window. The driver handed it to his mistress without a flicker of emotion. The window closed, the SUV rolled forward, and black flames washed the driver back into his skeletal form.

  Like a spider savoring a trapped fly, she took the bag. She opened it slowly, peeling back the wrapper with the patience of someone stripping bark from a tender chestnut.

  She lifted the burger: meat, meat, meat.

  She bit in like a black widow cracking the sweet skull of a butterfly. Chewing with delight, she devoured not only the food, but the last of the man’s resolve.

  She ate in silence, offered him nothing.

  “You won’t be alone in this operation,” she said, resting the photos on her lap to keep eating. “You’ll wait for our instructions, and follow every single one exactly.” She drank deep from the cup. “One mistake, and you know the price.”

  He swallowed again, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

  “Yes… understood,” he stammered.

  The SUV stopped. The door beside him swung open on its own. She tucked the rest of the food away and wiped her red lips with practiced grace.

  “That’s all,” she said, pushing the briefcase toward him. “Good luck with the hunt.”

  The man bolted out like lightning. Before the door closed, he caught one last glimpse: the woman kissing the photo from the second envelope. Her lips shaped the word again and again, a prayer whispered to the picture of a girl with red eyes and a wolf keychain dangling from her backpack.

  “Beautiful…so beautiful.”

  …

  …

  …

  The next morning, in a gift shop too innocent to know the word “danger,” a daughter helped her mother.

  “So they asked you to show your fire, hmm?” she laughed softly. “I bet you made quite an impression, my little spark.”

  “Ugh, don’t call me that…” her daughter groaned.

  “You loved them!” her mother shouted, remembering fondly. “Every New Year’s you’d beg me like a mad girl to buy you those sparklers.”

  “Yeah… I remember.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  She lied, but trusted her mother’s words more than her own memory. She remembered little, and she didn’t want to. The present mattered more.

  She changed the subject.

  “I heard them talking about a ‘Unit’ or something.”

  Feralynn replied while helping her mother wrap flowers for an order.

  The scissors froze mid-cut. Her mother’s heart thumped hard, sharp enough to prickle her fingertips.

  “What? No, no.” Her voice rushed, anxious. “What do you mean, a Unit? Fer, don’t tell me they’re actually considering putting you in the militia—”

  “Mama.” Feralynn cut her off, quiet but firm. “It’s not military. More like… a club or something where they send people on missions. And they didn’t confirm anything. It was just whispers.”

  She tied the final ribbon and set the bouquet beside the violet-wrapped boxes. Then her mother’s hand cupped her cheek.

  “First day, and already your teachers are whispering about you,” her mother said, smiling. “You really are special, my star…”

  Feralynn took her hand. It was warm. She closed her eyes, letting her mother stroke her black hair. For a moment, she let herself be six years old again.

  “As long as they don’t force you, fine… but I don’t want you pressured just because they see potential.”

  Fer nodded, looking away at the next bouquet she had to wrap.

  “No one forces me into anything, Mama.” She kept her hands busy helping in the shop. “Though… missions wouldn’t be so bad,” she muttered under her breath.

  Her mother moved on, pulling out more wrappings and paper-maché boxes.

  “Meet anyone interesting? Any friends?” she asked as she worked.

  Fer shook her head. She gathered roses, tying them with lilies and baby’s breath.

  “Well… I met a girl, I guess.” Her gaze wandered as her hands kept their practiced rhythm. “Something like that.”

  “Oh?” Her mother smiled. “And what’s she like?”

  Feralynn stared at the finished bouquet. Blue as her eyes. As her ice. She remembered the clash of lava and snow in that locked gaze.

  “...She’s arrogant,” she said, feigning venom.

  Darina only shook her head, smiling, not pressing further. Customers kept flowing in, and work had to go on. Yet Fer’s eyes lingered on the bouquet, noticing not only the blue blossoms but the pink ones threaded through.

  At nine, she shed her green shop apron and changed into her uniform. Today’s classes started late; the Headmistress said the Ministry was inspecting the campus.

  “After yesterday’s mess, guess they want to be sure nothing slipped through… especially with those stupid fairies,” she thought as she walked.

  At the bus stop a few streets down, Annya stood peering into the windows of accessory shops. She was fixated on a pair of strawberry-shaped earrings.

  “Hmmmmmm…”

  Feralynn was already beside her, watching with deadpan expression. Annya hadn’t noticed—her whole world was the jewelry.

  “Hm… not that one, ugly. Hmm… those are way too expensive… Ew, spiders? Who’d want spider earrings?”

  Fer squinted, baffled by how oblivious she was. A building could explode across the street and Annya wouldn’t notice.

  “...”

  Poke.

  “KYAH!”

  Feralynn tapped a freckled cheek with her finger, making Annya squeal like a mouse cornered by five cats. She stumbled back, nearly tripping—until Fer caught her by the knot of her tie, holding her upright.

  “You’ve got the survival instincts of a caterpillar.”

  That was her way of saying good morning. Annya adjusted her round glasses, still smiling.

  “Fer?! Hi! Umm, how long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to want to kick you.” Fer’s tone was flat, though not angry. “Maybe I should’ve.”

  Annya puffed her cheeks, pretending offense, though her smile didn’t fade.

  “You’re so mean to me… and here I was thinking of buying you something cute.”

  Fer raised an eyebrow, doubtful.

  “Something cute… like those strawberry earrings?”

  “Yes! They’d look adorable on you.” Annya beamed as if she’d discovered fire. “Picture it—bulldog face, but with little strawberries dangling. Perfect contrast!”

  “Never.”

  “Then spiders.”

  Fer stared.

  “I’ll burn that shop to the ground right now.”

  “Nooo! They’re cute!” Annya clung to her arm, as if genuinely worried for the jeweler’s fate.

  The bus hissed to a stop. Workers and people from the city poured out, yawning, dragging their feet. Fer and Annya climbed aboard with the rest, voices buzzing around them.

  They sat at the back. Annya leaned against the fogged window, tracing a heart with her fingertip.

  “Did you know the Ministry’s inspecting classrooms today?” she whispered conspiratorially. “Rumor is, during the welcome yesterday, a few fairies escaped into the ventilation ducts.”

  Fer snorted.

  “Great. What’s next—magical bug spray?”

  “More like hunting contraband. If anyone’s carrying illegal catalysts, or unregistered spells…” Annya’s eyes widened. “Imagine if they found a forbidden grimoire in someone’s locker.”

  Fer tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling.

  “Or if they discover some red-eyed idiot throwing fire without gloves.”

  Annya shot her a sideways look. Her voice softened.

  “If anyone says anything… I’ll be there, you know?”

  Fer crossed her arms, uncomfortable with the tenderness. She closed her eyes, mumbling:

  “I don’t need a bodyguard, chihuahua.”

  A pause. Fer let herself drift with the bus’s rocking.

  “What class today? Didn’t do Alchemy homework.”

  Annya dug through her pastel-violet planner covered in puppies and kittens. She flipped to the timetable.

  “No Alchemy, so you’re lucky.” She tapped the colored cells. “We’ve got Bernt… and—oh! Our first Arcane Defense class!” She lit up, but Fer just slouched deeper, hands in pockets.

  “Hm.”

  “I thought you’d be excited for that kind of class.” Annya frowned, still thinking of yesterday. “The professor is that man who was evaluating you, right?”

  Fer shrugged, eyes still closed.

  “Pass me your BMT notes? Bernt’s voice knocks me out faster than Nullwine.”

  Tap.

  She cracked one eye, annoyed. Annya had tapped her on the head with her notebook. Light in touch, heavy in judgment.

  “If you keep staying up late, your brain will fry.” She feigned seriousness. “I don’t want a zombie friend at school.”

  “At least you wouldn’t have to worry about me eating your brain.” Fer smirked. “Starve to death, heh.”

  TAP!

  The notebook came down harder.

  “HEY!”

  Fer turned, furious. Annya’s cheeks were red watermelons, freckles like seeds.

  “Hmph!” Annya looked away, arms crossed. “At least it’d improve your mood.”

  Fer rubbed her head where the notebook hit. She knew she’d gone too far.

  “Alright, alright… sorry…” The words slipped out grudgingly, like lemon juice on a scraped knee. “Just joking. Don’t get mad…”

  Annya kept her chin up, gaze stubbornly aside. But her pride cracked for a second. She peeked at Fer with one eye and smiled at the apology—and at the worry written in Fer’s eyebrows that her voice couldn’t disguise.

  “Forgiven.” She dropped her arms. “But I mean it—you’re always tired. Dark circles all the time. Are you really just reading comics every night?”

  Fer rubbed one eye, wiping away the ghost of a sleep-crust. She wasn’t about to tell Annya about the nightmares, the memories—the guilt that glows at night beside her pillow. Time to lie, which meant telling a half-truth.

  “Manga. But yeah, I prefer reading at night when it’s quiet…” She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand. “Found a few really good ones. Bought them with the allowance my aunt gives me sometimes.”

  “Oh! Manga? Which ones?! I’ve got some Nana and Inuyasha, but honestly I prefer the shows. I like seeing the colors.”

  “These.”

  She dug into her backpack and pulled out a single volume. Annya took it.

  “…Chainsaw Man?” She tested the words on her tongue. She flipped it open, then grinned at the sight of the protagonist. “Hehe, you look like him.”

  “Hm? Denji?”

  Annya held the book up beside Fer’s face to compare.

  “Well, yeah. You’ve both got the professional scowl.”

  “Shut up.” Fer growled without malice. Her face betrayed her anyway: a perfect copy of the character she liked to read. “I’m not like him.”

  Annya snickered and kept reading.

  “I see why you like it so much. Ew… that’s a lot of blood.”

  “It’s black and white, genius.”

  “Ugh, still.” She closed the book, unable to continue past illustrations of demons being disemboweled. “I thought you’d pick horror or mystery.”

  “I hate mystery,” Fer said, closing her eyes again. “It’s boring.”

  “And horror?”

  “I’m not a little girl like you, scared by a dumb book.”

  Tap.

  A third notebook thwack—gentle this time, playful. Fer tried not to smile and failed. A comfortable silence settled between them. Annya opened her backpack and pulled out her catalyst gloves. Fer glanced sideways, raising a brow, not getting it.

  “The snake you made yesterday was really pretty,” Annya said, slipping on the gloves. The runes along the fingers stirred to life. “I practiced a bit in my yard when we got back.”

  She took out her water bottle, unscrewed it carefully, and lifted a sip’s worth into the air.

  “Annya!” Fer hissed. “We’re not allowed to use magic on public transport!” Her eyes flicked to the other passengers.

  “Shhhh! Relax,” Annya whispered. “We’re at the very back. Just a second, look…”

  Frowning in concentration, she puffed her cheeks. The glove-runes glowed faintly, and the water bubble began to take shape—first a swollen banana, then a badly written S.

  Fer watched, fully focused. The speed at which Annya copied her failed fire-snake attempt actually surprised her.

  Annya added eyes—two tiny bulges budding from the liquid. She kept her hands steady, fighting the wobble.

  Just as her smile started to bloom, the bus suddenly jumped and—

  SPLASH!

  The water snake lost all shape and detonated across their faces. Fer slid wet strands of hair off her cheeks and stared at her equally soaked friend.

  A death stare. Annya smiled, mortified, reaching very slowly for her backpack to use as a shield.

  "O-Okay, um...you were right. Um, sorry~!"

  “…”

  PINCH! PINCH! PINCH!

  “OW, OW—FEEER! STOP!”

  Fer’s fingers went to work on Annya’s arm. Annya protested, giggling at the tickle. Fer ended up smiling despite her annoyance. A few passengers glanced back to find two drenched girls laughing together.

  …

  ….

  …

  ?