Chapter 1:The Poisoned Wine
Rain hit the windows unevenly—some streaks thin, some dragging like they didn’t want to fall. The city outside was mostly gone, just smeared light and the vague shape of buildings if you squinted.
The storm had been loud earlier. It wasn’t anymore.
Now it just… stayed.
Inside, the study was too warm. The kind of heat that sits on your skin too long.
Kael Draven leaned back in his chair, ankle hooked over his knee, a glass of wine hanging from his fingers like he’d forgotten it was there. The fire had burned low—barely flames, mostly glow. Shadows kept shifting like they couldn’t settle.
He hadn’t taken a drink.
He kept noticing that.
Didn’t fix it.
“...You’re late.”
Nothing.
His eyes slid toward the window instead of the door. The reflection there warped with the rain, stretching him out, pulling the room into something wrong.
Then—
movement behind him.
Small.
Enough.
His mouth twitched, but it didn’t quite become anything.
“You stopped knocking.”
The door opened slow. A soft creak, like it was being forced into it.
Footsteps. Not careful. Not really.
“Didn’t think you’d let me in anyway.”
The voice was rougher than before. Or maybe just tired.
Kael let out a breath through his nose.
“Yeah,” he said. “Probably not.”
Silence settled in, thick and awkward in a way it hadn’t been before.
Kael lifted the glass, turning it slightly. The wine clung to the sides, slow, heavy.
“Did you bring it,” he asked, “or did they hand it to you and tell you what to say?”
A pause.
“I brought it.”
Too quick.
Kael’s grip tightened just a little. Not enough to notice unless you were looking.
“Mm.”
He raised the glass—
stopped halfway.
His head tilted, just slightly.
“...You always lie faster when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“No?” Kael let out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s new.”
He set the glass down harder than he meant to. It clicked against the wood, sharp in the quiet.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Yeah,” the man said. “I know.”
But he didn’t move.
Kael’s jaw tightened. Just a flicker.
“Right,” he muttered. “Still like this.”
The fire popped. Loud. Both of them glanced at it for a second—too long.
Kael leaned forward, forearms on his knees now, the glass forgotten again.
“...How long?”
“Don’t.”
“How long?” Kael repeated, sharper this time.
A beat.
“Three years.”
That landed harder than it should’ve.
Kael looked away first. Just for a second. Toward the desk. The scratches in it.
“Feels shorter,” he said. Then, after a second, “Or longer. Not sure.”
“Yeah,” the man said. “That’s what happens.”
Kael huffed a quiet laugh. There was nothing amused in it.
“Still talking like you’ve got it figured out.”
“Someone has to.”
That hit.
You could see it—quick, ugly.
Kael straightened a little, eyes snapping back to him.
“Careful.”
“Or what?”
The question came fast. Too fast. Like he’d been holding onto it.
Kael stared at him.
Then leaned back again, slower this time.
“...You cut your hair,” he said.
The man blinked. “That’s what you—seriously?”
“It’s different.”
“That’s your takeaway?”
“It’s what changed,” Kael said, a little sharper now.
A pause.
“Yeah,” the man said. “A lot changed.”
That sat there.
Heavier than it should’ve.
Kael looked at the glass again. Reached for it. Didn’t pick it up.
“You didn’t come here to talk,” he said.
“No.”
“Good.”
A beat.
“Then don’t drag it out.”
“You’re the one dragging it out.”
Kael’s mouth twitched. This time it almost looked like a smile, but it didn’t stay.
“Then let’s stop.”
Silence.
Then—
“Drink it.”
Flat. Direct.
Kael went still.
There it was.
He let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb against the side of the glass.
“...You always were bad at this part.”
“Just drink it.”
“No.”
The word came quick. Immediate.
The man’s jaw tightened. “Don’t make this harder than it—”
“You first.”
“I’m not the one—”
“You brought it,” Kael cut in. “You drink it.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“No,” Kael said quietly. “You’re not. That’s why this is weird.”
That landed.
The man shifted his weight. Hand twitching again, closer to his side now.
Kael noticed. Of course he did.
“You’re thinking too much,” Kael added.
“You always say that.”
“Because you always do.”
A beat.
Then the man said it, low:
“Drink it.”
Kael stared at him for a long second.
Then, abruptly, he grabbed the glass and took a swallow.
Too fast.
Like he wanted it over with.
He set it down harder this time. Wine sloshed up the side.
“...There,” he said. “Done.”
The man didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
“You’re staring again,” Kael muttered.
“You drank it.”
“I know what I did.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
“You should be dead.”
Kael blinked once.
Then let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“...That’s dramatic.”
“It was enough to kill you.”
“Yeah?” Kael leaned back, but there was something off now. A tightness. “Then I guess I’m disappointing you.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I can see that.”
The man stepped forward. Not controlled this time.
“Why aren’t you reacting?”
Kael’s fingers twitched against the armrest.
“There it is,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“You expect something,” Kael said. “A fall. A reaction. Guilt, maybe.”
“I expect you to die.”
“Mm.”
Kael swallowed. Slower this time.
Something in his expression flickered—small, but real.
“Not happening,” he said.
A beat.
“I just tried to kill you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Kael looked at him. Really looked this time.
Then shook his head, just once.
“No,” he said. “You tried to convince yourself you would.”
That hit harder than anything else.
The man went still.
“Don’t—”
“You’re still here,” Kael cut in, voice low now. “You’re still talking.”
His gaze dropped briefly—to the man’s hand, hovering near his weapon.
“...You haven’t finished it.”
Silence.
Thick.
Ugly.
Kael leaned forward again, slower this time.
“Who sent you?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Yeah,” Kael said. “Didn’t think so.”
A pause.
“Did they promise you something?” Kael pushed, quieter now. “Or just threaten you enough?”
“Stop.”
“Which one?”
“I said stop.”
Kael did.
Not because he had to.
Because he saw it land.
“They always do that,” he said after a second, softer. “Offer something. Take the rest.”
The man’s hand shook. Just a little.
Kael saw it.
Didn’t comment.
“...Go on,” Kael said.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
The words weren’t sharp anymore. Just tired.
That changed something.
The man hesitated.
Actually hesitated.
Kael let out a breath, dragging a hand over his face.
“I’m hard to kill,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” the man said. “I noticed.”
Kael huffed, almost a laugh.
“Not the first time.”
That slipped out.
He didn’t take it back.
Silence again.
Then, quieter:
“...You used my favorite.”
“I didn’t choose it.”
“I know.”
Kael nodded once.
That seemed to matter more than he wanted it to.
“...Leave,” he said.
The man blinked. “What?”
“Go.”
“You think I’m just going to walk out after—”
“Yes.”
Flat.
Tired.
Done.
“...Why?”
Kael looked past him, toward the dark hallway.
Then back.
“Because you won’t do it,” he said. “Not all the way.”
A pause.
“And I’m not going to do it for you.”
That landed.
The man stepped back.
Once.
Then again.
He looked like he wanted to say something else.
Didn’t.
At the door, he stopped.
“...Next time,” he said, quieter now, “I won’t stop.”
Kael nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “You will.”
The door shut.
Not loud.
Just final.
The room felt wrong after that. Too quiet. Too warm.
Kael stayed where he was for a second.
Then exhaled, long and uneven.
“...Damn it,” he muttered.
His hand went to the glass again. Picked it up. Looked at what was left.
A beat.
“Sloppy,” he said—but it didn’t sound as certain this time.
He stood, slower now. There was a slight stiffness to it.
At the window, his reflection barely held together through the rain.
He pressed his hand to the glass.
Cold.
Grounding.
“...Three years,” he said under his breath.
That one stuck.
Outside, the storm kept going like none of it mattered.
Kael closed his eyes for a second.
Then opened them again.
“...Yeah,” he said quietly. “This is going to be a problem.”
