—Mortano, 3:27 a.m.—
The night dripped like oil.
Kael stood barefoot on the rooftop of the safehouse, shirtless, scars catching the moonlight like old sins refusing to fade. Below, the city breathed in jagged rhythms—sirens, footsteps, gunfire in the distance. Mortano never slept. Not really. It just waited for the next betrayal.
Behind him, Dario padded out onto the roof with a glass of something sharp and amber. He said nothing, just handed it over and lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the haunted lines of his face.
"You should be resting," Dario said after a moment.
Kael didn't take the glass.
"I don't sleep. Not anymore."
Dario took a long drag. "Nightmares again?"
Kael shook his head. "Not nightmares. Replays. But the scenes keep changing."
"Memory rot. Witchcraft," Dario muttered, ashing over the edge. "She's clawing deeper."
Kael finally took the glass and drank. The liquor burned, but not enough.
"She's not just after vengeance," Kael said. "She's after identity. If she takes enough of my memories… I'll stop being me."
Dario studied him, eyes sharp beneath the smoke. "And who will you become?"
Kael looked down at the streets below.
"Whatever's left."
They didn't speak for a moment.
Then Dario stepped closer, his voice lower. "You're still you. I see it every time you touch that scar on your chest."
Kael looked at him.
"Which one?"
"The one you gave yourself when they locked you in the cage. The one that says you didn't break."
Kael didn't flinch.
"I thought you hated me for what I did to Aria."
"I do," Dario said evenly. "But I hate myself more."
A pause stretched between them. Then—
Kael stepped in close, chest brushing Dario's. "Then hate me with your hands."
Dario's eyes flickered.
"Are you sure?"
"No."
And then they were kissing.
But this time it wasn't angry. It wasn't revenge.
It was surrender.
It was need disguised as punishment.
Kael's fingers tangled in Dario's hair, Dario's hands slid down Kael's bare back, dragging nails across old scars. Their mouths moved like they were drowning and only the other had air.
It was messy.
It was desperate.
It was human.
But even as their bodies collided, Kael could hear it—faint, echoing, like a voice in the bones of the night.
Aria's laugh.
Twisted.
Wrong.
Watching.
Waiting.
A curse didn't need eyes to see.
It only needed pain to anchor it.
And Kael was bleeding from the inside.
—
Elsewhere — The Hollow Shrine
Aria writhed under the witch's spell. Her body was still. But her mind raced, trapped between memory and madness.
She saw flashes:
Kael's breath on her neck.
Dario's blood on her wedding dress.
Her brother's last words.
And her own voice—soft and strange—whispering, "I still love them both."
Salvara loomed over her.
"Love is a leash," she said. "Let me sever it."
Aria screamed.
Not from pain.
From loss.
But the witch only smiled.
"It's working. The curse is digging deeper."
—
Mortano — 5:08 a.m.
Kael lay in bed, back against the cracked headboard, Dario beside him, shirtless and silent.
"I shouldn't have," Kael said, staring at the ceiling.
"You did," Dario replied.
They were quiet.
Then Dario reached over and touched Kael's wrist. "She's going to use this against us."
"I know."
"Still worth it?"
Kael turned his head, met Dario's eyes.
"Yes."
———
The safehouse was quiet—too quiet for a place that had seen fire and blood less than a week ago. Rain scratched lightly at the windows, and somewhere down the hall, a pipe groaned like it resented the silence.
Kael paced.
He couldn't sit still—not with what he saw, not with what he felt. Aria's voice still rang in his head like a curse that had found its echo.
You let me burn.
Now I burn through you.
He wanted to scream.
Dario was watching him from the bed, legs stretched, fingers wrapped lazily around a half-empty glass. But his eyes were sharp. Tracking. Calculating.
"Whatever's crawling in your head, it won't get better by pacing," Dario muttered.
"I need to do something."
"You are doing something. You're unraveling. Dramatically. Like a noir tragedy."
Kael stopped. "You think this is a joke?"
"I think it's the only thing keeping either of us from setting this place on fire."
Their eyes locked. Something dangerous passed between them. Familiar.
Kael's jaw twitched. "She said I wouldn't survive her."
"And do you believe her?"
Kael didn't answer.
Instead, he walked over—slow, deliberate. Standing in front of Dario like the storm he'd always been. Dario didn't flinch. He just raised the glass and took another sip.
"Say what you want to say," Dario challenged.
Kael knelt in front of him. "You were right. About earlier. The kiss. I wasn't kissing you. I was running from her shadow."
Dario's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I know."
"But I'm not running now."
The air tightened.
Kael's hands found Dario's thighs, sliding up slowly. "I'm not her pawn. I'm not her memory. I'm still here. With you."
Dario leaned forward, breath brushing Kael's face. "Then prove it."
Kael's mouth crushed into his.
No ghosts. No grief.
Just the hunger of two men clawing toward something real in the wreckage.
Dario pulled Kael to rest his backside, straddling him, fingers digging into his back like anchors. They didn't undress—not fully. Just enough to feel skin, to feel need, to forget everything but each other.
It wasn't gentle.
It was desperate.
Like two storms colliding.
Somewhere between kisses and gasps, Dario whispered against Kael's mouth, "Don't leave me behind again."
Kael's voice was a rasp. "Only if you promise not to save me."
Dario bit his lip. "I never was good at promises."
They crashed again.
Harder.
And this time, it wasn't about forgetting her.
It was about remembering them.
__
Elsewhere — Witch's Watchtower
Aria gasped, body shuddering in the basin.
Blood smeared down her neck, mixing with the wax and salt. Her hands gripped the edge like she could claw herself out of the vision.
She had seen everything.
The kiss.
The hunger.
The way Kael touched Dario like he had once touched her.
Salvara stood behind her, smirking. "Pain is a powerful teacher."
Aria's voice was hollow. "I want it gone."
"The love?"
"The pain."
"You can't have one without the other," the witch said. "But we can trade."
"For what?"
"Power."
Aria didn't answer. She didn't need to.
The basin began to boil.
Blood turned black.
And the spell took shape in the smoke.
___
Kael's body still buzzed from the aftershock.
Dario lay beside him on the bed, one arm over his eyes like he was shielding himself from the ceiling. They hadn't spoken in five minutes. Neither of them needed to.
Silence was the only honest thing between them right now.
"I should feel worse," Kael finally muttered, sitting up and pulling the sheet over his waist. "But I don't."
Dario didn't look at him. "That's because it wasn't wrong."
Kael ran a hand through his hair, breath still uneven. "But it wasn't right either."
"We're not saints, Kael."
"No. We're just haunted."
A beat.
Then Kael stood and crossed to the window. Rain had stopped. The sky had turned that bruised purple color — the kind that only came right before something ugly.
"She'll retaliate soon," Kael said. "If she saw us—"
"She saw us," Dario confirmed, sitting up now, lighting another cigarette. "Witches don't need eyes when they have blood and salt."
Kael stiffened.
"We need to hit first," Dario said. "Find her. End it."
Kael's jaw clenched. "I don't want to end her."
Dario raised a brow. "Still?"
"I don't even know who she is anymore. I just know she's hurting."
"She's hurting? Kael, she branded your name in someone else's blood."
Kael didn't flinch. "And still I dream of her laugh."
Dario stood, crossing to him. Close again. Closer than maybe he should've been.
"Then maybe it's time you stop dreaming."
Their faces were inches apart. But this time, there was no kiss.
Only the throb of something unfinished.
Dario's voice dropped. "Choose. Her ghost. Or your future."
Before Kael could answer—the power cut out.
A heavy slam echoed from downstairs.
Both men turned instantly.
Guns. Adrenaline. Silence breaking like a bone.
Kael whispered, "She found us."
"No," Dario said. "Someone else did."
__
Elsewhere — Atop the Watchtower
Aria stared into the black smoke swirling in the basin.
Salvara's voice purred beside her. "They're not just touching, child. They're choosing."
Aria's fingers curled into a fist.
"Let them," the witch whispered. "Their bond is nothing compared to what we could become."
"I don't want you," Aria hissed.
Salvara only laughed.
"You want power. And it never comes without blood."
In the smoke, Aria saw the safehouse.
Kael's shirt on the floor.
Dario's mouth against his skin.
And something… else.
A shadow behind the wall.
Not hers.
Not the witch's.
Something older.
Something watching.
Salvara frowned. "We're not alone in this curse anymore."
Aria turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" The witch's eyes burned bright. "Someone else wants what's theirs."
____
Mortano — Safehouse, 6:03 a.m.
Kael's hand gripped the pistol under the nightstand before the lights even finished flickering out. Beside him, Dario already had his back pressed to the wall, gun drawn, eyes cutting through the dark.
Another thud downstairs.
Not a door.
Not footsteps.
Something heavier.
Dragging.
Kael signaled silently, and they moved. Years of training made the choreography effortless. Down the hallway, past peeling wallpaper and flickering emergency lights, their breath synced. One misstep could mean more than death—it could mean being rewritten by whatever shadow Aria had unleashed.
They reached the stairwell.
Silence.
Then, a low, rhythmic creak. Wood under pressure. But it wasn't coming from below.
It was above.
Kael looked up.
So did Dario.
Nothing.
Until a drop of blood landed on Kael's cheek.
He froze.
Then slowly lifted his gaze to the ceiling.
There, sprawled like a crucified spider, a body hung from the rafters—skin flayed open, mouth sewn shut with hair. Its empty eye sockets stared straight at him.
Kael swallowed a scream.
Dario exhaled sharply. "Fuck. That's not her."
"No," Kael said, backing away. "That's something else."
The body twitched.
They both stepped back, guns up.
Then it spoke—a voice rasping not from the stitched mouth, but from somewhere deep in the bones of the house.
"You brought her to me… and now I am awake."
Kael fired.
The body fell.
Crack.
A sickening crunch as it hit the floor, bones rearranging like they didn't follow human anatomy anymore.
The silence afterward was worse than the sound.
And then—
Whispers.
From every wall.
Every pipe.
Every floorboard.
Dario grabbed Kael's arm, pulling him back. "This isn't her curse. It's layered. Someone else is feeding on this."
"A parasite?"
"A passenger."
Kael's breath hitched. "Then we've opened something we can't close."
As if to answer, the walls groaned. Paint bubbled. Shadows lengthened.
Then Kael heard it again—Aria's laugh. Only now it was wrong. Warped. Like something else was wearing her voice like a mask.
—
Elsewhere — The Hollow Shrine
Aria collapsed forward, coughing violently, blood spraying into the basin. Her hands trembled.
Salvara didn't move to help. She simply watched.
"It's touching them too," Aria whispered. "Whatever it is."
Salvara's face twisted. "Something ancient. Something buried in Kael long before you cursed him."
"I never meant to dig that deep," Aria rasped.
"You didn't. He did."
Aria blinked. "Kael?"
"No," the witch murmured. "The boy before he became Kael."
The flames around them pulsed.
"He was broken long before you touched him," Salvara said. "You just gave his shadow a name."
Aria stared into the black water, voice shaking. "Then what is it?"
Salvara leaned close, lips brushing her ear.
"Something that wants him more than you ever did."
—
Mortano — Safehouse, 6:21 a.m.
Kael and Dario had barricaded the upstairs, but it didn't matter. The walls were bleeding. Literally. Dark rivulets ran from the corners like the house itself was weeping.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow hallway, backs pressed to peeling wallpaper.
"We're out of time," Kael muttered. "This house is a mouth."
"And we're already between its teeth," Dario replied grimly.
Then, from the end of the hall, came a voice.
Kael's voice.
Not echoing.
Not distant.
Present.
Clear.
"You left me behind."
Kael's blood ran cold.
Dario raised his gun. "Tell me that wasn't you."
Kael didn't answer.
Because he knew.
He remembered.
That voice—unbroken, youthful, cruel—was him before the cage. Before the scars. Before the loyalty.
The hallway began to shift. Walls stretched. Doors vanished.
And from the dark, a figure emerged.
Kael's face. But younger. Smiling. Wearing the same jacket he'd buried ten years ago in a body bag.
Kael backed up.
The younger version of himself stepped forward.
"You keep choosing the wrong ghost," the doppelgänger said. "Choose me."
Dario stepped between them, gun raised. "You're not real."
The smile widened. "Neither is he."
The lights exploded.
Everything went black.
A scream split the air.
And Kael… wasn't in the hallway anymore.
—
The Shrine Between Worlds
He stood in a mirror of the safehouse. But warped. Dead things hung from the ceiling like forgotten prayers. In the reflection, Dario was still with him, but his eyes were hollow.
Kael's voice echoed.
"I'll always be your first betrayal."
He turned.
Behind him, the witch stood in a storm of shadow.
And beside her—Aria.
But her eyes were bleeding black.
"Welcome home," she said.
—
END OF CHAPTER FOUR