Caroline crossed the bridge that linked the Citadel to the Manor, her steps slow, careful. She remembered the first day she had walked this path, how her voice recorder had slipped from her coat and fallen. It had struck the stone twice before vanishing into the black beneath, probably crushed into nothing. Proof gone. Maybe with it, everything she had seen and heard had gone too. If it had survived, maybe the people above would believe her. Maybe they would finally understand what the Oaths meant, what the weapons were, what kind of gods ruled this place.
None of this would have happened if they had known. If they had realized the gods weren't saviors. That some had already been attacked. That some had fought back.
She reached the Manor.
The doors loomed tall, dark oak, unmoving in the silence.
She knocked once. No sound. Knocked again. Still nothing.
Time stretched. One minute. Three. Long enough to feel like ten. Maybe Evodil wasn't here. Maybe he had wandered off, or was buried in books somewhere in the library, asleep in the way only he could be. She could wait. Ask her questions. Or maybe she could try Jasper or Noah. Even one of the shades might point her toward a way out. Back to the surface.
Her hand tightened on the handle. She pulled.
The door creaked open, slow.
At first, there was nothing. Just silence pressing in on all sides.
Then Evodil's voice tore through it.
"GET OUT!"
It struck like a blade, sharp and merciless, filling the air with the weight of violence.
It wasn't his usual tone. Not the sarcasm. Not the wandering words that pushed people to the edge of patience. Not humor. Not drama.
This was anger.
More than that—hatred.
Not wild, not careless. Focused. Alive.
She froze, the door open only enough for her to breathe through. He couldn't see her. She couldn't see him. But the sound still locked her in place.
That voice wasn't meant as a warning.
It was a promise.
She knew she shouldn't step in. She knew there were other people she could turn to, that more questions weren't important, that she already had enough to help the world outside. Enough to warn them. Enough to explain. But for some reason, she didn't move away.
Not to run to Jasper. Not to beg James for help. Not even back underground to Noah and the humans living in the district below.
Her hand stayed on the door handle.
She squeezed harder, knuckles straining white from the force, her body trembling against her own decision. Then she pulled—slow, careful, steady—just enough to cross the threshold.
She stepped inside.
The air was different here. Heavier.
Caroline closed the door behind her, eyes shut tight, taking a single breath as if it would be her last. Maybe it would. Maybe whatever waited in the room was already watching her, already deciding if stepping inside after being told to leave was worth her life.
Maybe she had just made the worst mistake of what was left of humanity.
She turned slowly, opening her eyes one sliver at a time—only to see emptiness. Just herself, standing by the heavy wooden door. No creatures. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing but silence, thick and unnatural compared to the raw shout she had heard moments before.
But the room wasn't untouched.
Scratches ran across the walls in jagged lines. The patterned wallpaper had been ripped down in places, curled strips dangling loose as if peeled away by claws. Frames that once held paintings lay shattered across the floor, their glass cracked into dull shards. Chairs were splintered, broken down into uneven pieces of wood that looked kicked, not simply aged. The air still carried the faint scent of dust, but it was sharper now, mixed with something acrid, something burned.
Her chest tightened. Every part of her told her to leave, that there was nothing here worth the risk, that she would only find an early grave if she stayed. This city had marked her from the moment she arrived, and now it felt like the mark was finally being claimed.
But she didn't move toward the door.
Instead, she stepped forward, forcing her legs to carry her through the archway into the dining room.
She stepped further inside, finding nothing but the same devastation that had marked the entrance. Tables shoved out of place, chairs crushed into fragments too sharp to have broken by accident. The carpet was torn in places, pulled loose like something had clawed at it from underneath. If this was Evodil's work, she couldn't understand why. He had always kept this place close, cared for it in his own way, even if his care meant leaving dust on shelves and stacks of boxes untouched for years. He had never destroyed it. Not like this.
Her eyes lingered on the archway into the kitchen. That space looked untouched. The floor was clear, the counters neat, not a single mark on the walls. Maybe whatever had torn through here hadn't bothered to go inside. Or maybe it was still in there, waiting for her to make a mistake. The thought made her pulse quicken, and she caught herself trying not to breathe too loud, as though her own lungs might betray her.
Then her attention shifted. The stairs.
Her only other way forward.
They led to the one place she had never gone, the single room she had only heard of in passing. Evodil's office. His observatory. She had never seen anyone else go in. Not Jasper, not James, not even Noah. Only him.
She swallowed, tightening her coat around herself. And then she moved toward the stairs.
She climbed carefully, each step creaking under her weight as her eyes scanned the walls. Paintings lined them in broken sequence. Some still clung to their nails, crooked and fading, while others had slipped down the staircase and now rested cracked against the floorboards. The wallpaper here was slashed apart in places, not torn by hand, but cut. The marks were thinner than any blade she knew, sharper than a sword, slicing through plaster and paint as though the walls themselves had been skinned.
When she reached the upper landing, everything shifted.
The faded floral paper and dark oak boards gave way to white and gray. No pattern. No color. No texture. It looked as though light had poured over the wood until nothing of the original surface remained. A corridor bleached empty. A space that didn't belong to the house below.
And there was the door.
Two of them, layered strange. The outer frame was metal, flat and cold, fitted with a keypad. It stood slightly open, its edges showing no knob, no handle, nothing human in its design. But just behind it sat another door—ordinary in shape, painted a muted blue-gray. A star symbol rested in its center, carved faint but clear, and the wooden knob waited untouched. This one was closed.
She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't.
But she had come this far. Too far to walk back now.
Caroline reached for the knob.
Inside, the room mirrored the strange corridor outside it. White, gray, and hints of black. Nothing warm, nothing welcoming.
The walls were crowded with posters and sketches. Some were photographs—Evodil with his family, moments captured but never explained. Others were rough drawings, some of himself, others of places Caroline had never seen or even heard about. Three neon shapes burned along the far wall, a moon, a sun, and a star, each glowing in their own color, humming faintly as though alive.
Near them was a message, etched directly into the wall. The words cut deep, carved by something sharp enough to leave grooves in the pale surface.
Seek no freedom.
The rest of the chamber stretched wide, far larger than its narrow entrance suggested. White shelves lined with gray and black books rose along the walls. Between them sat papers, dried flowers, and objects she couldn't place, pieces arranged with deliberate care.
At the center was a black carpet with a single star woven into its weave. Beside it stood a desk crowded with objects. Three cups. Two still steaming, their heat rising faintly into the pale air. The third long since gone cold. A laptop sat open, its screen washed in low light.
Beyond it all, a tall window opened out onto Menystria. Darkness stretched in every direction, so thick she could barely tell the city from the void around it.
And in the center of the room, in front of the window, stood Evodil. His back turned to her.
Her breath caught as her eyes fixed on his body. The long coat was gone, leaving the black turtleneck exposed, fabric stretched tight against his frame. His hair was no longer the chaotic white that had set him apart from his brothers. Now it was black, wet-looking, with rivulets of ichor running from his scalp, dripping down the back of his neck. The strands fell over his face like a curtain, veiling everything but the sharp angle of his jaw.
Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to glance toward her.
The blindfold was gone.
In its place, only voids. Empty sockets where eyes should have been, each one holding a tiny white dot, faint and constant, like stars that refused to blink.
Caroline's chest locked. Jasper's words echoed in her head: Cover his eyes if you ever see him like that. Do it fast, or your mind might not survive it.
Her hand twitched upward, but too late.
A tendril snapped out from the air behind him, slicing forward with impossible speed. It struck her forehead in a straight line. She twisted, stumbling, barely fast enough to throw herself aside. The tendril tore through her hand instead, punching through flesh and bone before pinning her to the ground.
The shock sent her sprawling. She hit the floor hard, blood rushing hot down her wrist, staining the pale boards beneath her.
Evodil turned fully now, his face no longer hidden, no trace of the smirk that usually followed him everywhere. His expression was blank. No humor, no playfulness, not even anger. Just a still, calculated stare. Cold. Precise. Something closer to Noah than himself. Watching her. Measuring her. Judging if she was worth anything at all.
He exhaled sharply, a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl, rubbing his forehead with one hand as though her very presence was a headache. His shoulders slumped, hands half-raised in irritation before dropping back down. Tired. Annoyed. Not with fury, but with the dull kind of contempt that weighed heavier than shouting ever could. He didn't speak at first. He only stared at her as the blood spread across the floorboards beneath her.
Finally, he muttered.
"…Sorry."
The word came low, rushed, almost forced through clenched teeth, but it was there. An apology.
The tendril still skewering her hand shifted, its black surface rippling like liquid before it lost its edge. The shape softened, flattened, and began to weave around her wound. In seconds, the slick darkness became something else entirely—fabric, cold and damp like a cloth binding itself tight around her palm. He flicked his hand lazily, motioning for her to get back on her feet.
Caroline pushed herself upright, unsteady, her body trembling from the shock. She limped a step closer without meaning to, her eyes never leaving him.
Evodil crossed the room and sat heavily on the long white desk that stretched wall to wall. His hand gripped its edge, fingers tightening against the surface as he leaned forward slightly. His eyes—if they could be called that—remained locked on her.
The silence stretched. A minute, maybe more. The air pressed thick between them.
Then his brow arched, slow and deliberate. One eyebrow, then the other. His head tilted a fraction, the barest shift of curiosity breaking through his blankness.
"How," he asked, voice low and even, "are you still alive looking at me?"
She froze.
Her body stiffened as though her blood had stopped moving. She didn't know the answer, not to his question, not to any of this. If she said the wrong thing, would another tendril drive through her chest? Would she even be able to stand if she made him angry again? She didn't know. But the longer she stayed silent, the shorter her life felt.
So she spoke.
"I don't know. I don't know how. I don't even know what's supposed to be happening right now. Your eyes are… strange. Odd. But…" She hesitated, biting down before finishing. "They're nice to look at. Different. Even James or Noah don't have anything like that."
Evodil tilted his head further, staring at her. For a long moment, he seemed almost confused. Then he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. His hand rose, slicking his black hair back, ichor glistening as it clung to his fingers. He leaned forward, his face angling just slightly closer to hers.
"Marry me."
Caroline blinked, caught mid-breath. "What?"
His eyes narrowed, white dots steady in the void where his gaze should have been.
"What?"
Evodil stood suddenly, hopping down from the desk in one smooth motion. He closed the distance in seconds, stopping right in front of her. His smirk curled back across his face, slow and deliberate.
"So tell me," he said, tilting his head, "what are you even doing here? Most people would listen when a god screams at them to get the hell out of his house. But you stayed. Walked right in. Even made it all the way to my office."
Caroline stared at him, her breath catching again. Shock froze her for a heartbeat before she shook her head quickly, forcing herself to speak.
"I… I need something. Something with wheels. That can roll. Big enough to carry me out of here."
It sounded ridiculous out loud, like explaining fire to someone who had never seen it.
Evodil blinked, tilting his head further, his smirk faltering just slightly into something more offended. His hand slid back through his hair, slicking the black strands away from his face.
"A car," he said flatly. "I know what a car is." He gave a short nod, the smirk tugging back into place. "Noah stored one a while ago. Should be ready by the time you reach the main gate."
He stepped away without another word, drifting back toward the long desk. One of the mugs still sat there, steam curling faintly above it. He took it into his hand, raised it to his lips, and drank slow, his eyes still locked on her.
The smirk had fully returned.
She kept her eyes on the mug in his hand. The steam curled steady as he sipped, never looking away from her. She didn't move toward the door. She didn't move at all.
He noticed her staring. "Want a sip?" he asked, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She shook her head quickly. Who knew what was in that mug, what kind of things lived in this room. But the thought lingered anyway. When else would she get the chance? A drink poured by a god, something he chose for himself. It was stupid, maybe suicidal, but also a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If she even had a lifetime left.
A shiver ran through her. She glanced down at her hand, wrapped tight under the cloth that pulsed and itched with every heartbeat, then looked back up.
Her steps carried her forward before she could talk herself out of it. One, then another, until she was right in front of him. Face to face, or close to it. He was taller, maybe a full foot, forcing her to tilt her head up.
Evodil raised the cup slightly toward her. She reached out, fingers trembling, and took it from his hand. Lifting it to her nose, she breathed in. Nothing strange. No bitter tang, no burn, no hint of rot or metal. Just coffee.
She braced herself, then drank.
It was normal. Just coffee. Powder, water, heat. Nothing more.
And then her knees gave out. The mug slipped in her grip as the strength left her legs. Before she could hit the ground, Evodil's hand caught her arm, steadying her. She had to cling to him not to collapse entirely onto the floor.
He steadied her, lifting her back onto her feet. Heat flushed across her face, but not from his hand holding her. That was the least of her worries. The coffee burned its way through her body, making her knees weak and her chest feel tight. She blinked up at him, words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Who… who gave you that? The powder, the beans?"
Evodil shrugged lightly. "Since the world broke, since chaos came, I've only had coffee from Noah and Ariela. Nothing else. Nothing less. Just theirs." His smirk edged wider. "God coffee. Stuff."
Caroline stared, lips parting, then stumbled over her own voice. "You… you idiot." She forced the words out, half stuttering. "Giving me that. No wonder I feel like this."
God coffee. Of course it would do this. Make her flush, make her heart stumble in her chest, leave her weak at the knees. Some divine aphrodisiac that didn't touch him at all. Resistant, immune, standing there smug while she suffered for it. Stupid. Completely stupid.
She huffed, cheeks hot.
Evodil brushed at her coat as though dusting her off, smirk tugging at his mouth again. This time his sigh wasn't tired or bitter, but tinged with amusement.
He slipped a phone from his pocket, tapping at it quickly before glancing back to her. "You can visit me on Sunday if you want."
She stood there, barely holding herself upright. But the idea wasn't bad. A god to talk to. Someone to talk to. Anyone at all.
She nodded, smiling faintly despite her exhaustion. "Fine." Turning for the door, she pulled it open and stepped through.
"Your coffee sucks," she added over her shoulder.
Then she closed the door, leaving Evodil alone in the white room once more.