Chapter 156: Price of a Heartbeat
Lucas reached the apartment in the address with the quiet, bracing tension of a man walking down the corridor toward his own autopsy table — fully aware of what waited for him, but determined to look it in the eye. The building was old in the way that felt intentional, like it had chosen to decay. The hallway air tasted of dust and stale carpet fibers, heavy and undisturbed, mixed with an underlying tang of something metallic. It wasn't strong enough to be fresh blood, but the ghost of it hung there — blood that had dried long before anyone cared to clean it.
The lights overhead flickered as he stepped onto the floor, buzzing with a brief, sickly yellow glow, as if the building itself shuddered in recognition. As if it knew something hungry lived behind one of its doors.
He approached the apartment and knocked.
The door swung open before his fist even completed the second strike.
A man stood in the doorway — average in height, average in build, average in features, so thoroughly unremarkable he should have blended into a crowd like a ghost. But the smile on his face ruined that. It didn't belong on any human being. Too calm. Too polished. Too eager, as though he had practiced smiling without ever understanding why humans did it.
According to the records, this apartment belonged to a man named Darren. But whatever was standing there now… wasn't Darren. Not anymore.
"Come in," Tony said through Darren's lips. The voice was warm and welcoming, smooth in a way that made Lucas's skin crawl. Everything about it was wrong in a subtle, surgical way, like a knife hidden beneath velvet. "I've been waiting for you. You were faster than I expected. I assume you care very much about that fragile little girl."
Lucas forced himself into stillness — the kind that felt like locking his own bones into place.
Calm. Cold. Focused.
He stepped inside.
The apartment was tidy, but not in any way a real person might keep a living space. It was the kind of neat that screamed vacancy. Surfaces too clean. Objects too symmetrical. No signs of life, no casual clutter, no discarded jacket or forgotten glass of water. It looked less like someone lived here and more like someone was occupying the space temporarily, waiting for the body they'd stolen to expire.
Tony closed the door behind him with Darren's hands.
He led Lucas toward the kitchen table with a slow, confident stride.
And that's when Lucas saw it.
A glass jar sat in the center of the table like some sacred, obscene centerpiece. It was filled with blood so dark it bordered on black, its surface thick and unreflective. Suspended inside the liquid were shapes — thin, pale, vine-like threads that drifted and curled with delicate intention. They weren't floating. They weren't settling. They were alive. Moving as though they sensed him.
Tony lifted Darren's hand to the back of Darren's head and pinched something beneath the hairline.
A thin vine stretched from beneath the skin down to the jar, as if part of Darren's skull had rooted into the blood. When Tony tugged on it lightly, the movement inside the jar intensified. The vines writhed with sudden hunger, like predators stirring.
Tony smiled wider through Darren.
"Impressive, isn't it? This body served me well for a while." He tapped the jar with a soft, almost affectionate touch. "But this is the real me. My essence. My future."
Lucas stared at the jar, jaw tightening until it creaked.
Tony continued, voice gleaming with amusement. "She's still alive, you know. That little weakness of yours. Barely." He breathed out a laugh through Darren's stolen lungs. "Her body is… fragile. Like spun glass. So easy to crack." His smile deepened in a way that made Lucas's stomach twist. "If I want to, I can stop her heart. Just a thought. Just a whisper. It would take less time than a blink."
Lucas felt his claws, half-shifted, biting into the skin of his palm.
Tony watched this with delighted fascination. "Ah. There it is. That fury. You have no idea how badly I want that for myself."
Lucas forced air into his lungs. Forced steadiness into his voice. "What do you want?"
Tony's grin grew languid, satisfied, like a cat stretching into sun.
"I want you."
He lifted the jar with Darren's hands, holding it like something sacred, like a priest offering communion.
"You will let me attach myself to you. Willingly. Without resistance."
Lucas's voice came out low. Controlled. "And if I don't?"
Tony released a delighted, almost musical laugh. "Then Erica dies. Right there in her hospital bed. Before the next heartbeat."
As if summoned from memory Lucas heard the echo of her hospital monitor.
A single spike.
One shrill warning.
She wouldn't survive another.
"Don't bother with lightning," Tony added, his tone dipping into condescension. "A power like yours takes focus — and the moment you try to focus on me, she dies. Instantly. No struggle. No theatrics."
The choice wasn't a choice at all.
Lucas looked at the jar, at Darren's body, at the thing wearing him like a glove. A strange calm settled in his stomach, cold and absolute.
He stepped forward.
Quiet. Controlled.
Tony spread Darren's arms wide, triumphant. "Good boy. This is going to be beautiful. Now… lean forward."
From the back of Darren's neck, another vine uncoiled — longer than the others, glistening wetly, pulsing like something pulled out of a nightmare that still remembered how to breathe. It hovered in the air, searching for him.
Lucas closed his eyes.
Set his jaw.
All so she could live.
The vine slithered toward the base of his neck.
And touched skin.