The early morning mist clung to Lazarus Island, wrapping the dense foliage in a spectral shroud. The dawn was slow to rise, its light barely piercing the thick gray veil that curled between the mangroves and wooden stilt houses. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of wet earth and salt carried from the sea.

  The village was unusually quiet. Even the birds, normally chattering at this hour, were subdued.

  Kai’s boots crunched against the soft, damp ground as he moved, each step punctuated by the relentless pounding in his skull. A dull, throbbing ache behind his temples—a sign, maybe, that something wasn’t right. Or maybe it was just the lack of sleep catching up with him.

  He’d been woken up early, too early, by frantic knocking at his door.

  When he opened it, he found Laughing Lo standing there, but there was no laughter in his eyes today. The usual cocky smirk was absent, replaced by a grim expression that made Kai’s stomach twist.

  "What?" Kai had asked, voice rough with sleep.

  "Aria," Lo had said, voice quieter than usual. "She’s dead."

  The words didn’t register at first. Not fully. Not until Lo added:

  "They found her at the altar."

  A cold weight settled in Kai’s chest.

  Now, as they approached Aria’s house, that weight grew heavier.

  It was a small wooden structure, tucked away at the village’s edge, where the trees curled protectively around it. A safehouse. A refuge. It had been hers—a place of careful solitude, always smelling of lavender and seawater, where secrets were kept as tightly as locks on a door.

  And now?

  Now it was just another place holding ghosts.

  Beside him, Lo walked with slow, deliberate steps, his usual quietness made even more profound by the situation. His eyes remained downcast, his shoulders stiff. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. No one knew what to say.

  Because Aria was dead.

  Because it didn’t make sense.

  Because it shouldn’t have happened.

  Kai’s breath was steady as they reached the house, but his fingers twitched with unease. Something stirred at the edge of his senses—a pulse of unnatural energy. Faint, but present. Something wrong.

  "Feel that?" he murmured.

  Lo hesitated before nodding.

  Kai pressed a palm against the talisman beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the worn wooden charm carved with protective sigils. The magic there was quiet, unyielding. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

  Then, he pushed the door open.

  The hinges groaned, as if protesting their presence.

  Inside, the air was too still. The scent of lavender and salt still lingered, but beneath it—something off. Something metallic.

  Blood.

  Kai scanned the dimly lit interior. Nothing seemed out of place. The curtains were drawn halfway, allowing streaks of pale morning light to slant across the floorboards. The walls were lined with old bookshelves, each overflowing with texts on magic, history, and illicit knowledge. A wooden table near the center of the room had been left open with notes scattered across its surface.

  But there was no sign of a struggle. No overturned furniture. No shattered glass.

  She hadn’t fought.

  Or she hadn’t been given the chance.

  "Check for anything unusual," Kai said, his voice quiet but firm.

  Lo nodded, moving toward Aria’s study desk, scanning through the documents.

  But Kai’s focus had already narrowed.

  There—on the table—was a grimoire.

  His breath hitched.

  The pulse of magic intensified beneath his skin, like a sharp static hum threading through his veins.

  Carefully, he moved forward, placing a hand over the book’s surface.

  Pact magic.

  Not the kind Aria practiced.

  She had been a stealth witch, skilled in misdirection and concealment, but this? This was something far older, far more dangerous.

  Shamans were born with the ability to communicate with spirits, and witches were bound to one patron at a time—a single source of their power.

  But pact magic?

  Pact magic was different.

  It bypassed the limitations of natural ability, allowing a practitioner to forge multiple contracts—with beings far older, far darker than they understood. It wasn’t just a risk.

  It was a death sentence.

  Kai’s throat tightened.

  He traced his fingers over the worn leather cover of the grimoire, his pulse quickening when he saw the name carved into the spine.

  Red Veil.

  His stomach twisted.

  "Kai?" Lo’s voice trembled slightly behind him. "You find something?"

  Kai’s fingers hovered over the crimson sigils etched into the grimoire’s surface. They pulsed faintly beneath his touch, as though something inside was still breathing.

  "Aria was researching something dangerous," Kai murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Lo stepped closer, his expression darkening. "Why the hell would she be looking into pact magic?"

  Kai swallowed hard.

  Because Red Veil wasn’t just a spirit.

  She had been a powerful blood witch—once mortal, now something else entirely. A Sultan who had ruled the Malacca Straits in defiance of any man. A woman betrayed, beheaded for refusing to bow.

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  And in death, she had become something more.

  A force of blood and vengeance.

  And Aria had been trying to summon her.

  "Why?" Lo repeated, but Kai didn’t have an answer.

  Because he didn’t know.

  And that was the worst part.

  The silence in the room grew heavier. The walls, the floorboards, the very air—they all felt wrong. Like something was watching.

  Then—

  A sound.

  A rustling. Fabric brushing against wood.

  Both men snapped to attention.

  Kai moved first, heart hammering, following the sound to the back of the house. A door was ajar, swaying slightly in the morning breeze.

  Beyond it—the garden stretched into the treeline.

  And in the dirt, freshly pressed into the damp earth—

  Footprints.

  Lo stiffened. "We’re not alone."

  Kai stepped outside, movements careful but swift. The scent of damp earth and salt carried on the breeze. His eyes scanned the garden, following the single set of footprints leading into the jungle.

  Lo followed, silent at his back.

  The footprints faded as the undergrowth swallowed them.

  Kai slowed.

  Something was wrong.

  The air was too still. The usual **hum of life—cicadas, rustling leaves, distant bird calls—**was gone.

  Just silence.

  His hand hovered near the knife strapped beneath his coat, his muscles coiling.

  He pushed aside a curtain of vines, breath tight in his chest.

  Nothing.

  No shadowed figure.

  No sign of movement.

  Just the empty jungle.

  Lo exhaled sharply. "They’re gone."

  Kai frowned, kneeling to inspect the last visible footprint.

  The soil was damp—soft enough to hold a shape.

  But it wasn’t sinking, not the way it should have if someone had run.

  It was like they had just... vanished.

  He touched the ground.

  No lingering warmth.

  No magical residue.

  Whoever had been here left nothing behind.

  Or maybe they’d never truly been here at all.

  Lo’s arms crossed, scanning the treetops. "Do you think they were watching us?"

  Kai didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, he glanced back toward the house—the doorway still open, the weight of grief and unanswered questions pressing against its frame.

  "Maybe," he murmured.

  Lo didn’t push.

  They stood there, listening, but the jungle gave them nothing.

  Eventually, Kai turned back. "Let’s go."

  As they walked away, the wind stirred the branches overhead—rustling the leaves like a whisper.

  And though they saw nothing, the feeling of being watched never quite left.

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  The Banana Cabanna usually pulsed with life—neon lights swirling, laughter rippling through the rum-and-sea-salt-scented air, a haven of music and magic tucked away in the heart of Lazarus Island. But tonight, its vibrancy felt muted, overshadowed by a pall of grief and fear.

  Aria’s death had left a void, one that seemed impossible to fill.

  Kai sat at the bar, fingers curled around his untouched drink, shoulders heavy with unspoken anger. He wasn't much for drinking alone, but right now, the act of holding something felt like the only thing keeping him from breaking something else.

  Beside him, Duff leaned silently against the counter, arms crossed, eyes distant.

  Duff was not a large man—his lean, wiry frame gave him the deceptive look of someone easy to underestimate. That was until he moved. Every shift of his body, every flick of his wrist carried the deadly efficiency of a seasoned sword-witch. His auburn hair, streaked with faded silver, was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, giving him the look of a rogue nobleman who had long since abandoned courtly manners for something wilder.

  His sharp Celtic features, all angles and defiance, were partially obscured by the dim glow of the bar’s neon, but Kai didn’t need light to see the tension in his jaw, the flickering grief in his sea-green eyes. Duff wasn't the type to break—not outwardly—but the way he held himself, shoulders drawn tight, fingers absently toying with the leather cuff around his wrist, spoke volumes.

  Lee stood beside him, his tall, poised frame an unshakable presence in the low-lit bar.

  Where Duff was sharp edges and restless energy, Lee was control incarnate. The man looked like he had been carved from marble, his posture perfect, his presence measured—even now, even in grief. His silver hair, neatly tied back, framed a face that was both regal and severe, high cheekbones and a strong, straight nose giving him the bearing of an immaculate swordsman.

  But it was his eyes—dark, piercing, intelligent—that carried the most weight.

  Lee was a man who had seen too much, and yet, somehow, he still watched everything, his sharp gaze sweeping the room as if calculating unseen dangers. His tailored dark shirt fit impeccably, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal lean muscle and faded scars, remnants of a life lived in battle.

  His hand rested on Duff’s waist—a quiet comfort, a rare public gesture between them.

  Kai knew them well enough to understand what that meant.

  Lee wasn’t just offering support; he was anchoring Duff, holding him steady in a storm that neither of them had been prepared for.

  Even Nana Splitz, the flamboyant drag queen whose rainbow-colored hair usually shimmered under the bar lights, moved slowly, pouring drinks with subdued grace. Her usual teasing commentary was absent, her expressive features drawn in something dangerously close to mourning.

  “It’s hitting everyone hard,” Nana finally said, breaking the oppressive silence. Her voice, usually bright, held a careful, tired gentleness. “Aria was family.”

  Kai’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on his glass. “Where is she now?”

  “Our makeshift morgue,” Duff answered quietly.

  Kai exhaled, the cold glass sweating beneath his fingers.

  “This doesn’t sit right,” he murmured, voice low.

  Duff didn’t answer at first, his gaze still locked on the rows of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. When he finally spoke, his accent thickened, raw around the edges.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Duff said. “It wasn’t meant to.”

  Lee didn’t speak, but the way his fingers curled slightly against Duff’s waist told Kai enough.

  This wasn’t just grief.

  It was the quiet calculation of men who had already decided that something needed to be done.

  Duff finally broke the silence, his voice low. “Did you find anything?”

  Kai hesitated, then placed a worn leather-bound book on the bar counter. Pact magic.

  “She was researching how to summon the Red Veil,” Kai said grimly. “It’s bad.”

  Lee reached forward, his fingers tracing the book’s cover before his expression darkened.

  “That sigil—it belongs to the Ninth Precinct’s archives,” he murmured. “Highly restricted.”

  The witch hunters? Nana asked, eyes wide. “Why would Aria have that?”

  “She wouldn’t,” Kai said, voice cold. “Aria would never work with the Ninth Precinct.”

  A tense silence fell as the weight of Kai’s words settled over the group.

  “The Ninth Precinct has been circling the island for months,” Nana said uneasily. “And they were also here as soon as something bad happened.” She frowned. “Something feels wrong—like they’re waiting for us to slip.”

  “I don’t buy it.” Kai argued. “Aria wouldn’t betray us.”

  “We need to confront the Ninth Precinct in our meeting later,” Duff said sharply. His voice trembled slightly, a rare sign of frustration. “This can’t continue.”

  “No,” Lee replied instantly, firm yet calm. “That’s exactly what they want. Any aggression from us justifies their actions. We have to be cautious.”

  Kai slammed his hand on the bar, tension snapping taut like a wire.

  “Then we need answers—from Aria herself.”

  The room stilled instantly.

  Lee stared hard at Kai. “The Grave Tongue Ritual?”

  “Yes,” Kai said without hesitation, the intensity burning bright in his eyes. “If Aria can tell us who approached her, we have a chance.”

  “That spell is dangerous,” Lee warned sharply. “It never ends well.”

  “I agree,” Duff said, voice strained. “Necromancy isn’t like the magic you normally handle, Kai. Even you could lose control.”

  Kai pushed away from the bar, his movements resolute.

  “I’ll take that risk,” he replied flatly. “I can’t stand by while they pick us off one by one.”

  Before anyone could respond, Nana suddenly straightened, her colorful hair shifting as her eyes narrowed toward the staircase.

  “Someone’s upstairs,” she murmured, voice taut.

  In a heartbeat, Lee stepped forward, shedding his relaxed posture for the calculated readiness of his witch-hunter past.

  “Stay here,” he said sharply, already moving toward the stairs with Nana following closely behind.

  The sudden quiet left Kai alone with Duff, tension thick between them.

  For a long moment, neither spoke.

  Finally, Duff exhaled, exhaustion lining his features.

  “Kai,” he began softly, “I understand why you’re angry. I am too. But this rage—it’s not helping you see clearly. If you let your emotions drive your magic, it’ll tear you apart.”

  Kai closed his eyes briefly, struggling against the raw fury churning beneath his skin, stirred by the restless spirit bonded to him.

  When he spoke, his voice was heavy but controlled.

  “I know,” he admitted. “But Aria deserved better. If I don’t act, who else will?”

  “You’re not alone in this fight,” Duff replied, placing a steadying hand on Kai’s shoulder. “But throwing yourself headfirst into necromancy without preparation is reckless.”

  Kai met Duff’s gaze, feeling the older man’s calm strength anchor him. The anger within him still burned, but he felt its sharp edge dulling, becoming something manageable.

  Finally, Kai nodded slowly.

  “Fine. For now, I’ll wait.”

  Relief softened Duff’s expression. “You’re making the right choice. We’ll face this together.”

  But even as Kai agreed, he knew the fragile peace wouldn’t last for long.