Damon exhaled sharply, the breath trembling out of him as the tension finally bled from his muscles. He loosened his hold and rose from George's limp, unconscious body.
Vincent lowered himself onto the blood-stained floorboards with a dull, exhausted thud. His broadsword dissolved into soft motes of light, fading back into his hidden inventory. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.
His shoulders shook with subtle tremors that betrayed everything he tried to hide. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were rimmed red as moisture clung stubbornly to the edges. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his stained coat.
"Sorry you had to see your brother's… pathetic side," Vincent muttered with his gaze fixed on the floor.
Damon felt his chest tighten as he heard his words. He swallowed the tangled emotions brooding inside and forced a dry tone "Don't worry about it. I never thought you were impressive to begin with."
["Hora! This where your suppose to cheer him up, Tsundere boya. Gambare!"], Tomoe murmured in his mind, her tone dripping with amusement. Damon could almost see her smiling as she rolled her eyes.
A shaky laugh escaped Vincent."Is that so?" He finally glanced at Damon, a weary smile gracing his lips. "Then… could my not so impressive little brother help his failure of an older brother just a bit longer?"
He gestured at the room, the horrific splattered wall, the drenched bedsheets, the silent aftermath scattered across the floor.
"We need to clean this up," Vincent whispered. "Before Henry gets back with Harley."
****
After ascending the stairs a second door clicked shut behind Henry, sealing off the nightmare festering one floor below. For a moment he stood completely still.
'What would I have done if he'd said yes?'
If Vincent had met his eyes with that hollow stillness and admitted he planned to kill George… and Harley… what then? Would Henry's daggers already be in his hands? Would he really have raised them against the brother whose shadow he had followed since childhood? The idea scraped cold down his spine. He was truly grateful that he never had to learn the truth.
He shook his head helplessly before taking a deep breath and slowly breathing out.
After closing his eyes, he stretched his Mystic Sense outward, searching for the distinct pulse of Harley's intent. Even among the riot of desire, hunger, and euphoria saturating the building, her presence glowed in the dark as a mess of anxiety and sadness.
'It's strange tracking intent still works this well even on people who aren't Specters'.
He followed the thread, but the deeper he walked, the worse the air became. The sour, sweet smell of spilled beer and jasmine blended over musky sweat and oils, clung to the back of his nostrils. The raunchy sounds of moans and laughter pressed in his ear drums from both sides of the corridor.
Behind all of it, like a bruise he couldn't ignore, the memory of Marco and the cold bodies lined under white sheets in the morgue flickered.
A sharp wave of nausea rolled through him.
"Ugh … I don't think I'll be having anything for lunch or dinner after all this" He muttered.
He stopped and braced a hand against the wall, head lowered as he waited for the dizziness to settle. His breath came slow and uneven.
Cassie's face drifted into his mind as He wondered briefly how she was doing, whether she'd eaten, if she was safe. The thought was a quiet anchor in the storm stimulus slowly calming his mind.
Then a voice, lilting with a thick southern Selyrian accent, called out behind him.
"Mon Petit… what is a child doing wandering a place like this?"
Startled, Henry straightened and turned to see a woman stood framed by an open door across the hall. Flaxen hair reached the base of her slender neck, half-shadowed by the light behind her. Her eyes were a striking blue, bright even in the dim hallway. She wore an open semi-transparent night gown, with frilled pink lingerie visible beneath. A cigarette rested between her fingers, trailing a thin line of smoke that curled around her rosie cheek.
Henry's gaze slipped for a second while he stood speechless. Catching the sheen of sweat dripping from her hair to her collarbone. His face instantly blushed red as he jerked his head away.
"I—I'm looking for Ms. Harley," he said nervously." I was sent by her lover to come find her."
The woman blinked, then visibly relaxed. "Ah... I feared for a moment they had begun allowing minors as customers. If that ever happens, I will leave this place at once. I have seen enough of that nonsense elsewhere." Although the brothels were legally permitted to provide entertainment for younger customers if they were members of a major military academy, such a notion had crossed a moral boundary she wasn't willing to concede.
She gathered the edges of her gown tighter around waist with a small sigh then stepped into the hallway, offering him a gentle, guiding hand. "Come. I will take you to her."
But before she could take a step forward, a man's rough voice called from inside the room behind her.
"Hey! Can't we go another round?"
Her brow twitched. "Non. You are overestimating yourself," she replied dryly. "You enticed me with big words, monsieur, but your body has already surrendered. I am bored now. Maybe next time."
She turned back to Henry, utterly unbothered, and took his hand. "Come, follow me."
Her palm was warm, warmer than he expected. She gave his hand a curious squeeze. "Your burning up," she murmured. "Would you like something cold to drink, Mon Cher?"
"N-no, I'm fine," Henry said quickly, staring very intently at the far wall as they walked. But his eyes betrayed him, flickering downward in quick, guilty glances he hoped she didn't notice.
'Why am I reacting like this?' he thought, irritated with himself.
'I wasn't inexperienced in my past life. I should have control over something this simple.'
But then he remembered…
This body wasn't like his original.
Currently, he was just a child that only recently crossed the threshold of puberty.
Henry took a hard gulp, fighting the urge to stare at anything other than the back of the woman's head. Even then, the faint sway of her bosom threatened to undo the thin composure he was clinging to.
They walked in silence for a while, the ambient noise fading as the hallway sloped into a quieter wing of the brothel. After two right turns, the woman slowed and gestured ahead where single door waited. It was taller than the others by a few inches and its frame was reinforced with a faint metallic sheen most people would never notice.
Henry did. When he stepped closer, he saw four tiny runes etched subtly along the edges.'Marco must have carved theses to keep Harley protected'
"Harley, Mon coeur? You have a visitor." The woman gently knocked on the door but was met with only silence. "Harley? It is Ella. Someone is here for you."
Creak… The door yielded with a groan, revealing Harley's startled face and a quick glimpse of the room's spacious interior. She froze instantly, her eyes locking onto Henry standing beside Ella.
"You came up here yourself?" Harley inquired, her composure slipping as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She then gave Ella a grateful nod.
"Thank you for bringing him, Ella. You can take the rest of the day off."
Ella dipped her head politely in acknowledgement, then gave Henry a faint smile, and drifted down another hallway. When the echo of her footsteps finally faded, Harley turned her attention to Henry, worry slipping back into her expression.
"Why did you come looking for me?" she asked softly.
"Where are George and Vincent?" Her voice was gentle, but the worries beneath it pushed against his Mystic Sense like a trembling hand.
Henry hesitated when he felt her intent contract. The fear and hope bottling together so tightly it almost made him nauseous once more. He swallowed hard and forced the words out."Marco's… condition improved."
"He wants to see you," Henry added quietly.
In an instant, Harley stepped closer and grasped his shoulders, fingers trembling. "Are you serious?"
Trying his best to mask his inner thoughts Henry weakly nodded.
Watching tears of relief gathering in her brown eyes, Henry looked away with guilt gripping the back of his mind.
Her cry for hope should've felt comforting, but instead it made the doubt return like a cold tide.