Lucy paced the sealed chamber like a trapped animal, the stone floor cold under her bare feet and the oil lamp's dim glow throwing long shadows that danced like mocking ghosts on the walls. The hunger gnawed at her insides, a sharp, twisting pain that grew louder with every hour locked away, making her skin itch and her thoughts race in wild circles. She stopped by the basin, splashed water on her face, and stared at her reflection in the rippling surface—her eyes looked hollow, her cheeks pale, but that faint rose-gold shimmer still lurked when the light hit just right. The room felt smaller now, the bolted chair and narrow cot mocking her with their uselessness. She slumped onto the cot, rubbing her temples, trying to push back the memories from her dream that still clung like spiderwebs. The orphanage screams, the black rose petal, the pull toward the shadows—it all fed the hunger, turning it from a dull ache into a screaming beast that begged for just one taste of someone's life spark.
A soft scrape echoed from the corner, like nails on stone. Lucy froze, her hand darting to the empty spot where her sword should have been—Thorne had taken her weapons when he locked her in. The shadows in the far corner thickened, swirling like smoke from a dying fire, and a figure stepped out as if the wall had spit him up. He was tall and slim, dressed in a simple black coat that hung loose on his frame, with skin pale as moonlit fog and eyes glowing a faint purple. His hair was short and messy, like he had rolled out of bed, but his smile was sharp, too knowing for someone who looked barely older than her. Lucy jumped to her feet, back against the wall, heart pounding. How had he gotten in? The door was sealed with iron wards, no windows, no cracks—yet here he stood, calm as if he had strolled through a garden gate.
"Who are you?" she demanded, voice rough from the hunger's constant pull. "And how the hell did you get past the wards?" The man chuckled, low and easy, like they were old friends sharing a joke. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Wards are for amateurs. I'm Silas, one of Mother Lilith's runners. She sent me to chat. As for how—let's just say shadows have their own doors if you know where to knock." Lucy's mind raced. Lilith—the name whispered in dark corners of the Order's books, the queen of night demons, the one who supposedly started it all. Silas watched her think it through, his purple eyes twinkling. The hunger inside her stirred, curious, sniffing at him like a dog at a stranger's hand. He smelled faintly of smoke and sweet fruit, tempting, but she shoved the feeling down hard.
Silas pushed off the wall and paced a slow circle, his boots silent on the stone. "Lilith runs the show for our kind—the confraternity of sex demons, if you like fancy names. She's the big boss, chairing the whole thing from her throne in the under-realms. Think of it like a big family business. She sets the rules, picks the players, makes sure the essence flows where it needs to go. Without her, we'd be a mess of lone wolves fighting over scraps." Lucy circled with him, keeping distance, her bare feet cold but steady. The hunger perked up at "essence," a sharp pang hitting her gut. She ignored it. "And Nyx? Where does she fit?" Silas grinned wider. "Nyx? She's a manager, a goddess in her own right—handles the day-to-day stuff up here on the surface. Recruits the lost ones, plants the seeds, keeps the garden growing. She's Lilith's right hand for the human world, turning loneliness into loyalty one dream at a time."
Silas stopped pacing and faced her straight on, his expression turning serious but still friendly, like a salesman with the best deal in town. "That's why I'm here. Lilith sees potential in you. That hunger gnawing at you? It's a gift, not a curse. Join us—the confraternity. We'll teach you to feed without the guilt, to turn that ache into power. No more starving in holy cages. You'd start low, sure, but with your fire? You'd climb fast. Nyx could mentor you herself." Lucy's stomach twisted hard, the hunger roaring in agreement, imagining full, warm satisfaction at last. She shook her head, fists clenched. "I'm not joining your twisted family. Tell Lilith to find another lost soul." Silas shrugged, like he expected that. "Fair enough. But the invitation stands. Hunger doesn't like being ignored forever."
He backed toward the shadows, his form starting to fade like mist in the sun. "One more thing—Lilith's empire isn't just whispers and dreams. It's real. Underground networks in every city, pacts with nobles who crave what we offer, rituals that keep the essence flowing like rivers. Calder's Row is just the start. Join or not, but know this: the world's changing. Steam and iron can't stop what's coming." The hunger surged again, pulling at her like a hook in her gut, begging her to grab his arm and take a taste before he vanished. Lucy held still, jaw tight. Silas smiled one last time, eyes gleaming. "See you soon, Lucy. The door's always open."
The shadows swallowed him whole, leaving the room empty and colder. Lucy stood there, breathing hard, the hunger raging louder than ever, her mind spinning with visions of underground empires and endless feasts. She sank back onto the cot, fists pressed to her stomach, fighting the pull that grew stronger by the second.
And as the oil lamp flickered low, casting wild shadows that looked like reaching hands, Lucy knew the hunger would not wait much longer before it forced her to choose—feed or break—and the second she gave in, the empire Silas described would pull her in deep, drowning her in a sea of sweet, endless want that might never let her surface again.