The storm had broken by morning.
Asher trudged through the muddy streets with his cloak pulled tight around him, the vessel hidden deep inside his satchel. Every step he took made the bag feel heavier, as though the bronze thing was not metal at all but stone chained to his very soul.
He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those molten gold eyes staring back at him. That smile—sharp, mocking, and too knowing. His skin still prickled with the phantom feel of smoke curling around his ankles, the echo of Zahran's whisper.
You cannot escape me.
The words haunted him.
He told himself he had no reason to be afraid. Djinn were creatures of myth and superstition. The vessel was just an old relic. He was exhausted, that was all.
And yet, when he stepped into the cramped little room he rented above the cobbler's shop, he felt it. The air was thick, warmer than it should have been. The faint smell of incense lingered as though someone had burned it hours ago.
"Asher."
He froze, hand tightening on the satchel strap. The voice was velvet and smoke, curling around him like a noose.
Slowly, he turned.
Zahran leaned casually against the window frame, arms folded, golden eyes gleaming in the sunlight like fire caught in crystal. His body looked almost solid now, though shadows rippled faintly across his skin as though he wasn't entirely bound by the laws of flesh.
"You," Asher breathed.
"Me," Zahran said with a smile that was equal parts smug and lazy. "Did you really believe hiding me in a bag would make me vanish? Tsk. Mortals are adorable when they cling to denial."
Asher's fists clenched. "Get out."
Zahran arched a brow, amused. "Out? Ah, but you forget, little mortal—we are bound. Until your third wish is spent, where you go, I follow. Think of me as…" He tapped his chin in mock thought. "Your shadow. Handsome, dangerous, and far more entertaining than the real one."
"I don't want you here."
"You don't want me here," Zahran echoed, his grin sharpening. "And yet, you've carried my vessel home. Kept me close. That says something, doesn't it?"
"It says I had no choice."
Zahran pushed off the window frame and prowled across the room with slow, deliberate steps, every movement smooth as flowing smoke. Asher refused to back away, though his pulse hammered in his throat.
"No choice," Zahran murmured, circling him. "That's what they all say. And yet, when the moment comes, when desire claws at their ribs, when desperation strangles them—they always whisper a wish. Always."
Asher's jaw tightened. "Not me."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Zahran studied him, golden eyes narrowing as though peeling away layers Asher didn't know he had. Then he smiled—not mocking this time, but strangely soft.
"You intrigue me, Asher."
The words unsettled him more than the threats. He shoved past the Djinn, setting his satchel on the narrow desk and pulling out the vessel. Its surface gleamed faintly in the morning light, runes shifting like restless serpents.
"You said you've waited centuries," Asher muttered without looking at him. "Centuries of silence. Maybe that's what you deserve. To stay locked in this thing forever."
Zahran's expression flickered. "And perhaps it is," he said quietly. Then the smirk returned, sharp as a blade. "But fate decided otherwise. It chose you."
"Fate?" Asher scoffed. "Or just bad luck?"
Zahran chuckled, low and dangerous. "Ah, mortal. In my experience, the two are one and the same."
He moved closer again, smoke trailing from his form like a living cloak. "Tell me, Asher… what do you dream of when you close your eyes at night? What secret burns inside you so deeply you dare not speak it aloud?"
"Stop it."
Zahran tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "I see it. The loneliness in your shoulders. The way your voice hesitates when you speak of choice. You carry a hunger, Asher. A longing. Deny it all you like, but when the silence grows too heavy, you will wish."
Asher's throat tightened. He wanted to scream at him, to throw the vessel out the window, to end this nightmare. But Zahran's words sank into him like hooks, dragging up truths he didn't want to face.
Instead, he grabbed the vessel and shoved it into the desk drawer with a sharp slam. "Stay there. Stay out of my life."
Zahran only smiled, smoke curling around the drawer as though the command amused him. "Oh, Asher… even shadows do not obey their masters."
By evening, Asher was certain he'd lost his mind.
He tried working at the docks, hauling crates and tying ropes, but the vessel weighed heavily in his thoughts. Every time he turned his head, he swore he saw smoke lingering at the edge of his vision. Every laugh from the men around him seemed distant, muffled by the echo of Zahran's velvet voice.
When he returned to his room, the air was warm again. Incense. Always incense.
He slammed the door shut, back pressed against it, heart racing. "You're haunting me."
The Djinn appeared in the center of the room in a curl of smoke, lounging on the bed as though it were a throne. "Haunting?" His grin widened. "No. Protecting, perhaps. Guarding. Watching. Call it what you will. I am here."
"Why me?" Asher burst out, the question ripping free before he could stop it. "Why my hands? Why not someone rich, someone powerful, someone who actually wants you?"
Zahran's expression shifted. The smirk faded, and for once, he looked… almost human. Tired. Ancient.
"Because fate is cruel," he said softly. "And perhaps—" his gaze sharpened, catching Asher in place, "—because you are not like the others. You resist. You fight. You look at me, and you do not beg. That alone makes you… interesting."
Asher swallowed, throat dry. He wanted to hate him. He wanted to believe the Djinn was nothing but a curse, a chain waiting to strangle him. But beneath the smoke and mockery, there was something else. Something raw.
Dangerous.
Lonely.
And it terrified him more than the snarling hound of smoke or the storm that had frozen at Zahran's command.
"Stay out of my head," Asher muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Zahran rose from the bed, smoke trailing behind him. He stopped just inches away, golden eyes burning into his. "I cannot," he whispered. "Not while we are bound. Your heart is my cage now, Asher. And sooner or later…" His lips curved, soft and dangerous. "…you will open the lock."
Before Asher could respond, Zahran dissolved into smoke again, leaving the room empty, silent, and heavy with the scent of burning incense.
Asher pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribs. He had never felt so trapped—yet never so seen.
Three wishes.
One curse.
And a Djinn who would not let him go.