Chocolate.
That’s what I came down this aisle for.
I repeat that to myself like it’s important. Like the reason matters. Like I’m not really here because Cazaro gave me five minutes of freedom and my brain hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that I’m walking through a store instead of pacing the same locked room.
The shelves blur slightly as I pass them.
Flour.
Sugar.
Honey.
Normal things.
Normal human things.
My hand trails along the wood for a moment, grounding myself.
Across the store I can see the fruit stand where Cazaro disappeared. He’s standing with his back turned, examining something in a basket, completely calm. Completely at home.
Like he owns the air everyone in this building breathes.
Which, technically, he does.
I turn the corner toward the chocolate.
And then I see him.
Zane.
For a moment my brain refuses to process it.
He’s leaning against the end of the aisle like he’s been standing there for hours, arms crossed loosely, eyes scanning the room with that restless energy he’s always had.
His hair is a mess.
Not the carefully messy kind either. The kind that says he hasn’t slept properly in days and gave up trying to make himself look presentable somewhere along the way.
His face is covered in rough stubble.
Dark circles sit under his eyes.
But he’s alive.
He was never caught.
No soldiers dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night.
No trial.
No execution in the square.
He got to walk away.
He got to live.
The realization hits me so hard I actually stop walking.
My chest tightens.
He’s free.
Free to leave the city.
Free to disappear.
Free to live the kind of quiet life humans used to have before vampires turned everything into a carefully managed system.
He doesn’t belong to anyone.
Not like I do.
His eyes move across the store.
Then they land on me.
For half a second he just stares.
Shock spreads across his face so quickly it’s almost painful to watch.
“Holy fucking hell, Allysia.”
His voice is louder than it should be.
My heart jumps straight into my throat.
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He closes the distance between us before I can stop him.
Before I can warn him.
Before I can think.
His arms wrap around me in a tight hug that smells like outside air and rain and exhaustion.
“I thought you were dead,” he says roughly.
My body doesn’t react.
Not because I don’t want to hug him back.
Because my brain is screaming.
You idiot.
You absolute idiot.
I pull back just enough to look at him.
“Go.”
He blinks.
“What?”
“Before you get caught talking to me.”
His expression shifts.
Confusion. Concern. Stubborn determination.
Classic Zane.
“How are you?” he asks quietly.
I stare at him.
“Just peachy, Zane.”
The sarcasm lands exactly the way I want it to.
He ignores it.
Of course he does.
His eyes move quickly over my face.
The marks on my neck.
Everything.
“You look—”
“Don’t.”
The word comes out sharper than I intended.
I try to step around him.
His hand catches my arm.
“Let me help you.”
The words are quiet.
Sincere.
And completely useless.
“You want to help?” I snap.
He nods immediately.
“Then get out of my face.”
The frustration burns through my chest.
“I’m stuck exactly where I am.”
His grip loosens slightly.
But he still doesn’t move.
Zane has never been good at walking away from things.
Especially when someone he cares about is involved.
And that’s when the idea hits me.
Fast.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
But maybe worth it.
I lean slightly closer to him.
“Go to my editor,” I say under my breath.
His eyebrows shoot up.
“Tell him the paper is in my desk.”
He opens his mouth.
I cut him off.
“Left drawer.”
His expression shifts.
“False bottom.”
Now he understands.
“I put it there the night of the trial.”
His eyebrows lift again.
“Do it.”
For a second he just stares at me.
Then he nods once.
Good.
I reach for the chocolate bar on the shelf just as footsteps approach behind me.
Cazaro.
“Thought you got lost?”
His voice slides smoothly into the moment like nothing unusual is happening.
Zane is already walking away down the aisle.
I turn back toward Cazaro, lifting the chocolate slightly.
“No.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Do you think Xavian would want some too?”
I try to sound thoughtful.
Friendly.
Normal.
“For his birthday?”
Cazaro studies me for a second.
Then nods.
“Sure.”
Relief slips quietly through my chest.
I grab another chocolate bar from the shelf.
Two pieces of chocolate.
One secret.
And hopefully one very important message about to leave this city.
---------
The bell above the shop door rings as someone steps in behind us, a soft, ordinary chime that feels strangely loud in my ears. The clerk finishes weighing the cherries, carefully tying the top of the paper bag while Cazaro waits beside me like this is the most normal errand in the world.
Like he’s just another man buying fruit on a spring afternoon.
Coins clink against the counter as he pays. The sound blends with the quiet movement of people around us, the creak of shelves, the rustle of paper bags. Someone leaves the store and the bell rings again, the same dull, familiar sound.
Everything feels painfully normal.
I stand there staring at the counter while the clerk hands him the bag. My thoughts move slowly, like they’re pushing through fog. Not the venom kind of fog. This is different. This is exhaustion.
Bone-deep, quiet exhaustion.
Three weeks ago I was arguing with my editor in a cramped office about headlines and word counts. I was chasing leads, digging through records, trying to prove something no one wanted to believe.
Now I’m standing beside the man who runs this entire city like a machine while he casually buys cherries for his brother’s birthday cake.
It would almost be funny if it didn’t make my stomach twist.
Embarrassment burns under my skin. Not the shallow kind that fades after a few minutes. The heavier kind that comes from realizing just how completely someone else has taken control of your life.
Cazaro Vielle is sick.
Not the loud, violent kind of sick people imagine when they talk about monsters. He’s worse than that.
He’s calm.
Controlled.
Everything he does has a purpose.
He runs this city like it’s a system of gears and pressure points, and every human in it is just another part that keeps the machine moving.
Including me.
My jaw tightens as we step away from the counter.
Fine.
If I’m part of his system now, then I’ll use it.
I’m not finished.
Not even close.
We push through the door and the bell rings again behind us. Outside, the air is cooler than before. Spring wind moves through the street, carrying the faint smell of rain that passed through earlier.
People walk past us carefully, pretending not to stare.
Pretending they don’t notice exactly who they’re sharing the sidewalk with.
Cazaro shifts the paper bag slightly in his hand as we start down the street. For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then I reach for his hand.
The movement surprises even me a little.
His fingers close around mine automatically, warm and steady. I don’t look up at him. Instead I step closer, letting my shoulder brush lightly against his arm as we walk.
Then I lean into him just enough to make it look natural.
Just enough that anyone watching might mistake it for something softer than captivity.
He glances down briefly.
Curious.
But not suspicious.
Good.
Let him think the isolation is working.
Let him believe the locked doors and blood draws and quiet days are slowly wearing me down.
Let him believe I’m adjusting.
Because that’s exactly what I need him to believe.
Trust.
That’s the only way this works.
I’ll make him trust me.
I’ll let him think I’m learning to live here, that I’m accepting the role he forced on me. I’ll give him small pieces of cooperation until the walls he’s built around himself start to relax.
Until he stops watching me like I’m a problem waiting to happen.
And when that moment comes…
I’ll get what I came here for.
The story.
The truth.
And then I’ll find a way out.
No matter what it costs.
