I slowly opened my eyes.
I was back in the cabin.
My head rested against Lucian's chest, his arm still around me — steady, protective, as though he had never moved at all. Realizing the closeness, I shifted slightly, creating a careful distance between us.
His voice came low and calm.
"Are you awake?"
I straightened in the chair, and something on my knee caught my attention — a faint dark substance, almost like ointment.
"What is this… Lucian?"
"My blood," he replied simply.
I blinked. "What?"
Only then did I notice the thin cut across his finger.
"It will ease your pain — body and mind," he continued. "When you return to your world, the marks will be gone. I only need to apply it to your forehead."
He paused briefly.
"May I?"
I nodded.
"Close your eyes."
"Okay…"
He leaned closer.
His finger brushed my forehead — gentle, careful — yet warmth spread instantly beneath his touch. I hadn't realized how cold I was until that warmth reached me.
His breath lingered near my face, close enough to disturb my thoughts, close enough to unsteady my heartbeat.
Something fluttered inside my chest. Soft. Unfamiliar. Overwhelming.
Not fear. Not pain.
Something else.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
I only knew he was near.
As he finished, his gaze lingered on me a second longer than necessary.
"Your dress," he said quietly, a faint trace of amusement beneath the firmness, "is far more revealing than what you usually wear."
He straightened, and I adjusted myself in the chair.
"I went to a party," I said softly.
"With Arian?" Lucian asked.
I hesitated before answering. "Yes… but Alise was there too."
He didn't reply immediately. His eyes remained on me — not questioning, not accusing… simply observing, as though measuring something I couldn't see.
"You are unwell today," he said at last. "You drank far too much, Miss Cristina."
His gaze held mine long enough to make me aware of my own breathing.
"I will not allow that again. Finish your matters in your world before coming here."
I lowered my eyes, fingers tightening slightly in my lap. "I'm sorry."
"Apologies hold no meaning here."
Silence lingered between us — not empty, but heavy, like words had been spoken that neither of us intended to explain.
"You are not in a condition to work today," he continued calmly. "Therefore — no payment."
The distance in his voice felt sharper than the statement itself.
He stood, the chair shifting softly against the floor.
"Rest. I have work in the library."
For a moment I thought he might say something more, but he didn't.
He turned and left, and the door closed behind him with a quiet finality.
The cabin fell quiet.
I called Alexander. No answer.
From somewhere deeper inside — from the library — Lucian's voice reached me, calm and certain.
"He will not pick up. Check the time."
I glanced at the clock and exhaled softly.
"Oh… right."
A faint pause followed. Even without seeing him, I could almost feel his gaze.
Since I didn't have to work, I decided to follow Lucian to the library.
I had barely walked a few steps when his voice reached me from ahead.
"Don't come here."
"I will," I answered quietly — and kept walking.
The corridor answered my footsteps with a hollow echo. The deeper I went, the quieter it became, the silence almost pressing against my ears.
"I'm here," his voice came again, calm, guiding rather than calling.
"Walk left. Straight."
I slowed slightly, frowning to myself
"Yes, yes… Mr. Ravenswood."
And I followed his voice.
He stood halfway up the narrow wooden staircase — around the sixteenth step — surrounded by towering shelves that disappeared into shadow above me.
The books were not ordinary. Their covers were dark, almost bruised in color, edged in dull gold that barely caught the light. Some looked cracked, some stitched, some sealed shut as if meant to remain unopened. Dust rested on them, untouched for years, yet the air didn't feel abandoned.
It felt watched.
A faint metallic scent lingered beneath the smell of old paper.
I rested my hand on the railing and tilted my head up toward him.
"What is this place?"
Without looking back at me, he slide a book into its slot with deliberate care.
"A section humans were never meant to enter."
The staircase creaked softly as he stepped down, the sound unusually loud in the silence.
He held one of the black-and-gold books.
Then — without warning — he turned his wrist.
The space beside us shifted.
A table and two chairs did not appear suddenly; the air thickened first, like heat over sand, and the shapes slowly pressed into existence, solidifying until wood replaced emptiness. The heavy book settled onto the table with a dull weight.
"A book of Hell."
I didn't sit. My fingers hovered above the cover without touching it, as though even the leather carried weight.
"Your world…?"
"Yes."
I rose slowly from the chair, unease tightening in my chest.
"Lucian… perhaps you shouldn't show me this," I said quietly. "I am human. Some things are not meant to be known."
"You will forget everything once your two years end."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because knowledge that does not belong to your kind should not remain with you. It interferes with your world."
"Does Alexander know?"
"No."
He closed the book. The sound was soft, yet it settled heavily in the silence around us.
"Come. You should not stay here."
He took the book in his hand and turned right into a different section, deeper within the library.
The air grew quieter as we walked, the faint echo of our footsteps following us between the tall shelves.
I glanced around uneasily. "Where are we going?"
"A peaceful place," he answered without slowing.
I let out a small breath. "A peaceful place… in Hell? You really expect me to believe that?"
He stopped and looked back at me, just over his shoulder.
"Do you believe in real magic?"
I exhaled softly.
"I already work in a demon's office… if that isn't real magic, then I clearly don't understand the definition."
after a short distance, he spoke quietly,
"Yes… then you should see this."
We walked a little further, and the passage slowly opened into a completely different section.
Ahead stood an entrance formed from intertwined wooden branches — not built, but grown together. The wood curved naturally into an arch, and across it his name was carved into the living grain.
Lucian.
We stepped inside.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
It no longer felt like a library.
.