Ink and ashes
It began with a lie.
Althea returned to the bookstore under the pretense of searching for a rare manuscript—an antique travel journal supposedly linked to a vanished smuggler. In truth, she had already obtained the real one through methods Elias would never approve of. But she needed a reason to see him again, something simple, something innocent.
Elias looked up from a stack of books as she entered, his glasses low on his nose, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead.
“You again,” he said, his smile soft and startled, as if he hadn’t expected someone like her to step inside twice.
“Is that a problem?” she asked, lifting a brow. Her voice carried the cold grace of someone accustomed to being feared.
“Only for my concentration,” he said. “You’re... distracting.”
No one spoke to her like that. Not with warmth. Not with the gentle honesty of a man who hadn’t learned fear.
Something in her chest tightened—dangerously.
He helped her search, weaving between aisles of old wood and paper, unaware that her security detail waited in the car outside, ready to kill for her with a single word. Elias was inches from her, brushing past her shoulder as he reached for a high shelf.
“Here.” He handed her a book, the corner of his lip lifting. “Not the one you’re looking for, but it’s a better adventure.”
She took it.
Not because she cared about the story—
But because he had touched it.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from her lieutenant.
ASher shipment spotted. Dock 7.
Do we proceed?
Her blood chilled.
Not now. Not here.
Elias noticed the shift in her expression, his smile fading.
“Bad news?”
“Something like that,” she replied.
She excused herself, slipping outside. The moment the door closed, the world snapped back into its true form—cold, vicious, sharp.
Her driver opened the car door. “Dock 7, Lady Winterstone?”
“Yes,” she said, sliding in.
Her voice was ice again.
The softness Elias brought out in her vanished like smoke.
As the car pulled away, she glanced back through the window.
Elias was watching her from inside the bookshop, confused concern written across his face.
And for a fleeting second, Althea wondered what he would think if he saw her as she truly was—
The queen of a criminal empire, about to spill blood in the dark. Chapter Three — Dock 7
Dock 7 was quiet, the kind of quiet that smelled of danger and saltwater. The moon hung low, casting silver over crates marked with false shipping companies—each a lie, each hiding something someone would kill to protect.
Her men waited in the shadows.
“What do we have?” she asked.
“Ashers routed a test shipment through our territory,” her lieutenant replied. “Bold move.”
“Or stupid,” Althea murmured.
She approached the crate, heel clicks echoing like gunshots. With a flick of her wrist, a guard pried it open.
Inside—white bricks wrapped tight.
Not drugs.
Not their usual poison.
Weapons.
Military-grade.
High-end.
War-level.
Althea inhaled sharply. This wasn’t a provocation.
This was preparation.
The Ashers weren’t just trying to undermine her.
They were preparing to wipe out the Winterstones entirely.
“Burn it,” she commanded. “Send them a message.”
Her men moved immediately. Flames licked the cold night air, consuming the crate and everything inside. Smoke spiraled upward, black and furious.
But as she watched the fire, her mind wasn’t on her enemies.
It was on Elias.
The way he had smiled at her.
The way he had looked at her like she was made of stories, not sins.
The way she wanted—just once—not to be the monster her world required.
A dangerous thought.
A fragile one.
Her lieutenant stepped next to her. “Do we strike back, my Lady?”
Althea stared into the flames.
“Yes,” she whispered. “And this time... we start with their heart.“Two days passed before Althea returned to the bookshop.
Not because she didn’t want to.
Because she knew she shouldn’t.
Yet there she was—standing outside the glass door like a sinner at a church threshold, staring at the warm amber light inside and the man who seemed too gentle for the world she carried on her shoulders.
Elias was shelving books when she entered. He turned at the sound of the bell, and that soft, startled smile appeared again.
“You disappeared,” he said.
“Did I?” Her tone was cool, but only because warmth felt dangerous.
“You came in looking like something was wrong.” He stepped closer. “I thought maybe I... said something.”
“You didn’t.”
You helped, she wanted to add. More than you know.
She held out the adventure novel he’d recommended.
“I finished it.”
“Already?” He blinked. “It took me a week.”
She shrugged. “I don’t sleep much.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
He said it so gently she almost forgot to breathe.
Then he asked a question no one in her world would ever ask—not with that softness, not without suspicion:
“Are you okay?”
The words cracked something in her, however small, however dangerous. No one cared if a Winterstone was okay. They only cared if she was strong enough to fight.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly.
“You don’t have to be.”
He had no idea what he was stepping into. None.
And that innocence terrified her more than any rival syndicate.
Elias guided her toward the counter. “Let me find you something lighter. Something that won’t keep you awake thinking.”
“I don’t mind thinking.”
“I can see that.” He rummaged through a stack, pulling out an old poetry book. “Try this. Healing verses. Or, well—attempts at healing.”
She reached for it, her fingers brushing his.
A spark—quiet, electric, and unbearably human—passed between them.
Althea swallowed and withdrew her hand too fast.
“Thank you.”
As she turned to leave, he spoke again.
“Althea?”
She froze.
She hadn’t told him her name.
“Your card from last time,” he said quickly, lifting a small notepad. “I like knowing the names of people who walk into my little universe.”
She forced herself to breathe.
She was slipping. Losing caution.
“Good night, Elias.”
“Come back soon,” he said.
And the worst part?
She wanted to.
