Malbonte followed his mother as she led him deeper into the maze, away from the fountain, leaving the little girl behind with his father. The look on his father's face had scared and confused him, and his mother was gripping his hand too tightly. He tried to wiggle free, but she didn't seem to notice.
Then came a high-pitched squeal that made Malbonte's blood freeze.
His mother's face turned pale, but her grip tightened.
For a moment, there was silence—then the sky erupted with a deafening rumble, red lightning streaking across the canopy. A long fork struck the heart of the maze with a blinding flash.
A black cloud of poisonous miasma billowed out from the center, spreading like ink through water. The ground trembled beneath them, and a shockwave rippled outward, toppling them both. Malbonte felt a sickening sensation crawl through his body as the wave passed. Somehow, instinctively, he knew that it was a curse.
Scrambling to his feet, Malbonte bolted back toward the fountain, his mother stumbling behind him.
He found his father standing over the little girl's limp form. His face—always so composed and strong—was twisted in abject horror. Malbonte had never seen him like that before, and he hated it.
"Dad?" Malbonte's voice wavered, but the word barely left his throat before an eerie stillness settled over the maze.
Then his mother screamed.
Both his parents collapsed to their knees. Their faces turned stiff, their eyes became distant and unseeing.
"What's wrong?" Malbonte cried, panic rising. He ran to his father, then his mother, shaking them, tugging at their clothes, trying to shake them from their stupor.
Another rumble split the air, and Malbonte was thrown backward, landing hard on the ground. He stared in horror as his parents' wings were ripped from their bodies, torn away like roots from the earth. Blood poured down their backs, pooling on the ground.
A rift tore open in the ground in front of them.
The next moment, it swallowed them whole.
Malbonte sat frozen, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed. His breath came in short, ragged gasps; the world was spinning around him.
Then came the sound of approaching footsteps—many footsteps.
Terror seized him, and without thinking, he turned and fled.
He sprinted out of the maze, away from the fountain, away from the place where those horrible things had happened to the little girl; to his parents. Away from those footsteps.
He didn't know where he was going, or why he was so afraid. He only knew one thing.
He had to get away.
So, Malbonte ran.
*—*
Thanks to Crowley's defection, Malbonte had gained valuable intelligence on the Academy's food drops. He tapped a finger against the next planned drop, a remote stretch of wilderness that was too perfect a target to ignore.
His eyes scanned the map, noting the details of the terrain—a dense forest to the north, a narrow pass to the east. Both offered potential choke points. He leaned forward, his mind already charting the ambush.
"We'll position two teams here and here," he stated, marking the key spots with a pencil. "One to block their approach, the other their escape."
"Safrai, you'll lead the ambush," he instructed. Despite the archdemon's failure in his previous mission, Malbonte had decided to give him another chance. "Capture the crew. There are bound to be strong flyers among them we can recruit."
Safrai nodded sharply and departed, but no sooner had the door closed than another knock sounded. Malbonte sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a long day.
*—*
The vision took him to the frigid heights of a desolate mountaintop. Snow swirled in relentless gusts, the wind howling a mournful dirge. Though Malbonte felt none of the cold, the stark isolation of the surroundings was palpable. Rapunzel sat at the cliff's edge, her legs dangling over the abyss, purple wings folded neatly against her back. She was immortal, though the setting was unmistakably Earth. Next to her stood a demon, his aura potent, dark, and roiling.
"What are you doing here?" the demon asked Rapunzel, his eyebrows furrowed as he turned towards her.
"Aren't you happy to see me, Lucifer?"
Malbonte's jaw tightened.Lucifer?
The demon hesitated and ruffled his hair before sitting down beside her. A flicker of something softer crossed his face, but it vanished before Malbonte could place it. Rapunzel kept her gaze fixed on the horizon; the weight of unspoken words seemed to hang heavily between them.
"Are you going to just sit there?" Lucifer asked after a moment, impatience lacing his voice.
"No," Rapunzel replied. "I…I came to say goodbye."
The tension between them seemed to thicken. This was no casual meeting, Malbonte realized. There was history here, layered and fraught.
"I have nothing more to do in Heaven," Lucifer said, his bitterness unmistakable. "They killed Winchesto and spared your mother. They knew exactly what they were doing."
Malbonte's mind raced. Winchesto. The name anchored the timing of the vision. This was during the period of rising tensions between Heaven and Hell—which Malbonte himself fomented through his hidden followers.
"You won't come back to the Academy again?" Rapunzel's voice trembled slightly, the melancholy note in her tone catching Malbonte off guard.
Lucifer turned to her, his mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. "And you're staying, right?" he asked, his grin forced, his eyes betraying his resentment.
"Yeah," she replied.
Lucifer sighed, his expression hardening once more. "Angels and demons have always been on opposing sides. I won't return."
Pain flickered across Rapunzel's face. "I'll miss you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lucifer flinched, as though she had physically struck him with her words. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. He seemed at a loss, his emotions betraying the hardened façade he wore.Was Rapunzel on such intimate terms with the son of Satan?
"That's it? Now we won't see each other again?" Rapunzel pressed.
"I don't know!" Lucifer snapped, frustration cracking his voice. "I don't know if we'll see each other again. I don't know anything anymore." His shoulders hunched as he began to shiver, his immortal body suddenly vulnerable to the cold, reflecting his state of mind. "You…you want to be good, so stay in Heaven. I'm not like that. Just don't become like them—the angels. Be yourself."
He stood abruptly, brushing the snow from his clothes before extending his hand to her. The gesture was hesitant, almost tender. Rapunzel took it, and he helped her up; his grip lingering longer than strictly necessary. The connection between them, whatever it was, was undeniable.
"It's time to go. Will you see me off?" Lucifer asked, his smile light, though his eyes were dark with unspoken emotions.
"I will," she replied, her words almost a promise.
And as they began to move, Malbonte was pulled out of the vision. He staggered as he returned to the present, disturbed by what he had just witnessed. His mind buzzed with questions.
Back when she had befriended Bont, Rapunzel had often lamented the divide between angels and demons, and had spoken of her friendships that defied those boundaries. Malbonte had never imagined that one of those friendships had been with the son of Satan himself. The memory of her recounting their shared visions of the burning tree and the goblet resurfaced. Had they been close enough to share such sensitive information?
More importantly, did her bond with Lucifer survive her act of killing Satan? What did that mean for her loyalties? Malbonte's unease deepened. Rapunzel's past was more complicated than he had anticipated, her sympathies and relationships far murkier. His next moves would need to account for the variables the visions of her tangled past continued to reveal.
*—*
Malbonte stood in his office, his palms resting against the edge of the desk behind him. He barely registered the pair of delicate female hands caressing his shoulders, sliding down his chest, sinking lower and lower with deliberate intent. Austie's touch was bold, teasing, but Malbonte's mind was too preoccupied to find pleasure in the moment.
With a swift, firm motion, he pushed her hands away, breaking the contact. Austie straightened up, her face twisting with confusion and offense.
"What's the matter?" she demanded sharply.
"Now isn't the time," Malbonte replied curtly. This wasn't the first time the demoness had tried to seduce him in the middle of the day. He suspected she craved the scandal—to be caughtin flagrante delictoso "everyone" would know she was bedding him. But her appetite for such petty significance held no interest for him.
Turning back to his desk, his fingers brushed against a small, handmade angel figurine, half-buried amidst the chaos. He picked it up, turning it over absently in his hand.
"The Citadel is deliberately silent about my reappearance," he said, thinking aloud. "They think they can avoid spreading fear."
Austie let out a soft, mocking chuckle from behind him. "But that won't save them."
"No," Malbonte agreed. "It won't. But our previous victory won't secure the next. We can't afford complacency. Any sign of weakness could cost us everything."
His grip on the figurine tightened, his knuckles whitening as anger bubbled beneath his calm exterior. "I will be as cruel as the situation demands."
The wooden angel snapped under the pressure, cracking with a splintering sound. Malbonte stared at the shattered remains in his hand for a moment, as though surprised at what he had done. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the broken pieces aside, his contempt for the fragile symbol clear.
He opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden darkness overtook him. It descended without warning, swallowing the room, the maps, the plans—everything. The pull of the vision was abrupt, overwhelming, and all too familiar. Malbonte groaned in irritation as the world dissolved around him, dragging him once again into the clutches of forces beyond his control.
*—*
He was in an unassuming suburban street on earth, the kind of setting that was worlds apart from Heaven or Hell. Rapunzel stood on a doorstep, her hand hovering mid-air, seemingly unable to summon the courage to knock on the door. There was hesitation in every breath, and it seemed that with each passing second, the decision pressed harder on her shoulders.
A few paces away, Lucifer leaned casually against a low stone wall, watching her with an expression that Malbonte might have called detached if not for the flicker of intensity in his eyes. His posture feigned nonchalance, but it was clear he was absorbed by the scene.
So, do you always hang around her?Malbonte muttered resignedly, the memory of seeing them together on the mountain top lingering like bitter dregs.
Before Rapunzel could gather her strength to knock, a curtain twitched from inside the house. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged man with a bald head and slightly stooped shoulders. His eyes were dull, shadowed with loss and pain.
"Good afternoon," he said, his voice low, tired.
Rapunzel swallowed, her voice catching in her throat as she forced words out. "Um… Afternoon."
The man's brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into his tone. "What do you want?"
For a moment, her resolve seemed to falter. Her hand fell to her side, but she stood her ground. "I… I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."
At that, the man staggered, gripping the doorframe as though the words had physically struck him. The air between them grew heavy, laden with unspoken grief. Though there was little resemblance between them, Malbonte could sense their connection—a parental bond, unbroken despite the separation of death.
"What do you mean?" The man's voice had an edge now, a barrier against inevitable pain.
"I was her… classmate," she stammered. "I saw her right before the accident."
His posture stiffened, his eyes searching hers with a desperate intensity. Looking in vain for something that might lessen his sense of loss and pain.
"She talked about you," Rapunzel continued, her voice hesitant. "Vicky loved you very much. She wouldn't want you to grieve."
Vicky? Malbonte's jaw dropped as the realization hit.Vicky?!
"That's all I wanted to say. Goodbye!" she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness, and turned to leave.
Before she could take more than a few steps, the man—her father—rushed after her. His heavy footsteps echoed on the porch as he reached for her hand, clasping it with tenderness and desperation. In that brief moment, it seemed as though he felt the truth in his heart. He was holding on to her as though she was the last tether to the daughter he had lost.
"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for those words."
Rapunzel—no,Vicky—opened her mouth to respond, but her words caught in her throat. "Fa—" she began, but she stopped herself, biting down on the tidal wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her.
Malbonte observed from the shadows, a familiar ache gripping his chest. The ache that only those who have lost their parents understand. Instinctively, he stepped forward, reaching out to her. His fingers brushed a strand of her hair and squeezed them between his fingertips, as though trying to offer her reassurance. But she was locked in her grief, beyond the reach of his consolation.
'Don't be sad,'he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft, even though he knew that she couldn't hear him.'At least you have a chance to reunite in the afterlife.'The resignation in his voice betrayed his own reality, one devoid of any such hope.
Tears clung to her eyelashes as her grief teetered on the edge of release. At that moment of frozen grief, Malbonte was yanked back into his reality as abruptly as he had left it.
Malbonte staggered, gripping the edge of his desk for support. His breath came in uneven bursts, the disorientation of his return leaving him unsteady. With his free hand, he wiped his face, trying to compose himself. Rapunzel's…no,Vicky'stear-streaked face lingered in his mind. It stirred up a storm of emotions—pity, compassion, and something far more elusive, an unsettling prickling that felt very much like remorse.
A gasp drew his attention. Malbonte turned to see Austie staring at him, her expression shifting between fear and concern.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, stepping closer. Before he could respond, she wrapped her arms around him in a tentative embrace.
The intimacy of the gesture felt jarringly misplaced in the wake of what he had just witnessed. For some reason, it disgusted him.
"Get out," Malbonte snarled.
Austie recoiled, her expression a mix of fear and wounded pride. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but his glare silenced her. Without another word, she fled the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
*—*
Malbonte circled the desk and slumped into his chair.Vicky.The name tasted sharp and sour on his tongue. So…she had lied to Bont—given him a false name. He had to admit it stung. It wasn't just the lie itself—it was the deliberate choice to sustain it. Lying to a stranger was one thing; but she had maintained the deception even as trust grew between them.
And yet, he couldn't entirely fault her. In the immortal world, masks were often necessary for survival. But the lie brought up other questions, ones he couldn't ignore: what else might she have been hiding?
His thoughts shifted to Lucifer. There was no mistaking the bond between him andVicky. Was it friendship? Something more? Malbonte grimaced and pushed the thought aside, unwilling to linger on it.
One thing was clear, however: Vicky had formed connections across the angel-demon divide, transcending the very hierarchies he himself sought to dismantle. This was no small feat. Among inborn immortals, the Unclaimed were universally despised, their company disdained. Most never advanced in immortal society. Rebecca was a rare exception—her foothold at the Citadel had been carefully engineered by Torendo, though her rise afterward had been her own doing.
If Vicky could bond with the son of Satan, what did that mean for her potential allegiances? She remained tied to Malbonte through the visions and through the stolen power that pulsed between them. She had already wielded that power to kill Satan, and used their shared visions to gain an advantage over his plans.
What would it mean to have her as an ally instead? After all, she had supported his ideas long before she knew who he truly was. The concept of equality resonated with her deeply. And she was no shrinking violet—she had dared to risk Shepha's wrath to help Bont escape from the Tower.
On the other hand, she likely saw him now as nothing more than a cruel monster who had caused her to lose her father.
And then there was Rebecca. Rebecca seemed intent on destroying him; she would undoubtedly leverage her influence over her daughter. Malbonte recalled Vicky's bitterness when she had spoken of her mother to Bont—her longing for her mother's affection, her resentment of her coldness. That bitterness was a sharp edge that could cut both ways. Vicky might side with the status quo in a bid to win her mother's approval. Or she might join him in defiance of her.
If Vicky chose to oppose him, he would have no choice but to kill her. He couldn't afford to let the enemy wield his stolen power. Yet, for reasons he couldn't fully articulate, the thought of ending her life felt…wrong.
Malbonte exhaled sharply, forcing the thought aside. Idle speculation would accomplish nothing. He would act decisively when the time came.
*—*
Fencio entered the room, his expression smug as he delivered the news. "We've captured the group on the supply run for the Academy," he announced, his tone carrying a note of triumph. "It seems our ambush was successful."
Malbonte leaned back, his fingers curling around the armrest of his chair. His dark eyes flickered with interest. "Good," he said. "I'll see them myself. But wait—there's something I need to discuss with you."
Fencio inclined his head, clearly pleased, as though he had orchestrated the ambush single-handedly. While the captives might yield insight into the Academy's operations, the answers Malbonte sought about Vicky—and their strange, growing connection—required deeper investigation.
"There's another matter I want you to look into…" Malbonte began, his voice lower, not wanting others to overhear. "I've been seeing visions of…Vicky's past." The name still tasted foreign on his tongue. "They come unbidden and vivid—more detailed than I expected."
Fencio's eyes flickered with unease. "Lucifer," he ventured cautiously. "He was the other subject in the ritual. Are you seeing his past as well?"
Malbonte's expression darkened. "No," he replied succinctly. "Only hers. And I know she's seen mine."
Fencio's brows knitted together. "It must be tied to the power she stole from you."
"Perhaps," Malbonte said, though his tone made it clear he wasn't convinced. "Either way, it complicates things. I want answers—about the visions, the power, and what binds us."
Fencio straightened, his sharp mind already moving ahead. "I've been looking into the matter of the power transfer," he said. "I'll search for anything that could explain the visions as well."
"Good," Malbonte replied, his tone clipped. "Don't fail me."
Fencio gave a terse nod, his expression carefully neutral as he left the room.
*—*
Malbonte strode toward the line of captives, his boots crunching against the hardened earth. They knelt in a row, restrained and restive, the coverings over their heads ensuring they had seen nothing of the journey to his camp.
The scent of sandalwood and tuberose stopped him in his tracks. His heart gave an involuntary lurch. It washer. How had the bird flown so carelessly into the net? A cruel smirk curled his lips. Who would rescue her from him now?
He came to a stop beside her, and watched as she tilted her head, as though trying to sense his aura. Her restrained hands pawed at his boots like a blind beggar, yet there was a curious arrogance to her movements—a defiance that piqued his interest. He felt the pull of his dark power coiling within her.
In one fluid motion, he yanked the hood from her head.
Shwoop!
The intensity of the hatred in her eyes struck him like a whip. After their last vision-encounter at the gazebo, some foolish part of him had expected something less hostile—perhaps even an acknowledgement of their shared, otherworldly connection.
But the otherworldly "intimate" nature of their shared visions had collapsed in the face of cold reality: she was his captive, on her knees, utterly at his mercy.
Well, then…
Her gaze flicked to the side, locking on Safrai among his men. "Are you with it too?" she spat venomously.
It.Worse than a monster, then. The word cut deeper than it should have, igniting an anger that warred with something else—something far more thrilling. Her defiance, even in the face of capture, excited him. There was no trace of the side she had shown to Bont—no soft smiles, no quiet vulnerability. But then again, he was not Bont, was he?
His lips curved into a cruel smirk.
Malbonte crouched until their faces were level. He stared into her eyes, letting the tension between them thicken.
"Welcome to my underground camp," he said, his voice honeyed, dripping with mockery.
Her lips trembled—whether from anger or fear, he couldn't tell—but she held his gaze, refusing to look away. The silence between them stretched, taut and heavy, broken only by the faint shuffling of the other prisoners and the distant screeches of the subantras.
His smirk deepened, a wicked edge creeping into it. This promised to be interesting…
*—*
When Vicky entered his office, he looked up, his gaze cold and detached, as though this meeting were of no consequence. Yet he had specifically ordered her to be brought to him.
Her face betrayed her fear, but she held herself together, her posture composed despite the tension in the air.
Malbonte nodded to Safrai. "Thank you. You can go now," he said briskly.
Safrai cast an oddly satisfied look at Vicky before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.
Without another word, Malbonte picked up a figurine from the shelf—an angelic-demonic hybrid—and tossed it onto the desk. It rolled perilously close to the edge before stopping right next to Vicky. His eyes flicked to her, catching the faint flicker of recognition in her eyes. Her gaze lingered on the figurine's angelic side—its broken halo, its shattered wings.
"A monster with massive horns, hooves, and small angelic wings,"Malbonte quoted, his voice unnervingly calm."A kind look, hiding exorbitant malice."He glanced at her before continuing."One eye is red, the other blue.That's what they say about me in theMalbonte Treatise."
Rising slowly, he leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk as he held her gaze. "So… do I look like a monster to you?"
Her breath hitched, but she didn't falter. "No. Not at all."
Malbonte blinked, startled by her answer. Straightening to his full height, he tilted his head mockingly. "I don't?"
"No," she said again, her voice steady.
Intrigued, he skirted the desk, perching on its edge and leaning into her space. Crowded, she hesitated briefly before lowering herself into a chair beside her. Malbonte studied her closely, his gaze piercing as he watched for any crack in her composure. He saw the subtle shiver that betrayed her anxiety, but her resolve didn't waver.
Reaching out, he caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face toward him. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch; for a moment, he lingered, his curiosity piqued.
She tried to wiggle free, but his grip remained firm. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice threaded with both anger and fear.
"Do you think I'm a villain? A lunatic?"
"That's what they say about you," she replied cautiously.
He released her chin but didn't step back, his presence looming. "Well, I'm not."
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You've proven otherwise so far."
"There are wars on Earth," he said with a shrug, his tone almost conversational. "No one can ever agree on who's right. They fight for ideals, for goals." His voice lowered, steady and commanding. "I'm an idealist too. I want the scales of Nemesis to finally balance. I want justice."
She frowned. "At what cost?"
"Everything has a price. The law of Harmony," he replied evenly.
Vicky scoffed, narrowing her eyes. "Bont would never do that," she spat, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her hand flew to her mouth, but the slip hung heavy in the air.
Malbonte tilted his head, a faint, predatory smile curling his lips. "Do you want to see Bont again?"
Her shoulders tensed, her expression guarded. "Because of me, Bont is gone," she whispered. "I shouldn't have freed him."
"I asked you a question," Malbonte pressed, his voice sharper. "Do you want to see him again?"
"Of course I would!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling. "I'm sure he's still out there… that he can be reached."
Malbonte threw his head back and laughed, the mocking sound echoing through the room.
"What's so funny?" Vicky snapped, her anger breaking through her nerves.
"Bont wasn't a full-fledged person," Malbonte said coldly. "Imagine if you were stripped of all your flaws, all your darkness. Would you still be you?"
Her lips parted, but no words came. Finally, she murmured, "No."
"That's right," he said, his tone softening. "Bont is me. Do you understand that? He can't return because he never went anywhere."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, mingling with disappointment and grief. Malbonte's anger flared. Her sorrow felt like a slap in the face—as though she mourned a part of him she deemed better, purer. The notion grated on his every nerve, though why her acceptance mattered at all was beyond him.
His gaze swept over her figure, slowly, deliberately, as he tried to reconcile the woman seated before him with the memories he carried of her, filtered through Bont's naive admiration. It was a strange sensation, like confronting the former flame of a person he had never truly been.
His eyes lingered on her defiant expression, then trailed to her lips—the lips Bont had loved to kiss, now set in determined resolve. They moved to her slender neck and paused at the manjomi tattoo etched into her skin, sloping gracefully toward her chest. The mark shimmered faintly, imbued with an unfamiliar power: the Serpent Tempter's gift for choosing mercy over might. And now, it shielded her mind. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—would it shield her from him?
His gaze continued downward, charting the delicate curves of her waist, the subtle flare of her hips, and the elegant lines of her legs that tapered to her feet. She stayed silent through his scrutiny, as though sensing that his perusal didn't stem from motives of seduction. He was remembering, remapping the contours of her form—contours he had once glimpsed, almost bare, through a mirror, that he had softly caressed through layers of fabric.
"I remember every time we met… Rapunzel," he said softly, lifting his eyes back to meet hers, his tone threading the intimacy of Bont's memories with the piercing weight of his own scrutiny, binding past and present into a single, charged moment.
Her lips tightened. "My name is Vicky," she retorted sharply.
Malbonte smiled, slow and mocking. "I know…Rapunzel."
Her fists clenched, her body trembling with her effort to control her anger. Didn't like being caught out in a lie, did she?
"I remember your concern for me," he continued, his voice dropping. "If it weren't for that…" He paused, his gaze darkening as it locked onto hers. "…our conversation here would be much less civil."
She flinched but held her ground. "Where are the others I flew here with?" she demanded. "What happened to them?"
Malbonte stopped, meeting her defiant gaze head-on. "Do you want to join them?"
"Yes!" she flared, her voice sharp with conviction.
He laughed, a low, menacing sound. "I've got a better offer. Join us."
She opened her mouth, no doubt to retort, but he cut her off. "It's a one-time offer," he added, his voice icy.
Her voice trembled with rage. "I was killed because of you! My friend Sammy was killed, and Winchesto…" She shook her head, her voice breaking. "And you're seriously asking me to join you?" Her tone turned sickly sweet. "Yes, I definitely recognize Bont's naivety."
The insult hit its mark. Malbonte's anger boiled over. He grabbed her roughly, pulling her close. "In return for helping Bont, I won't kill you," he snarled.
With that, he seized her wrist and dragged her from the room.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, struggling against his iron grip.
"I don't think so," Malbonte retorted, continuing to drag her along, his pace relentless. Immortals watched their passage in silence, some exchanging amused glances at the sight of her futile resistance.
At last, they reached the cells. Malbonte shoved open one of the cell doors and dragged her inside. Without hesitation, he pushed her against the wall and shackled her wrists to it with cold iron.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.
Leaning in close so she would feel the heat of his breath against her cheek, he hissed, "I want you to understand—I'm no longer Bont."
He turned to leave, but her desperate voice stopped him in his tracks. "No! Don't go! Don't leave me here, please!"
He paused, his back to her, his chest tightening.
"Malbonte…" She whispered his name.
The sound of it—soft, pleading, and laced with fear—nearly undid him. For a moment, he wavered. The urge to turn around, to close the distance, to unchain her and shake some sense into her surged through him with a breathless intensity. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he fought the temptation.
He shoved the weakness down and almost ran out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding bang.
Vicky could come to her senses—or rot.
***—***