Evie returned to her old apartment after her meeting with the interior designers. The discussion had been productive—better than she had hoped. She had painted a vision of what she wanted the bookstore to become, and they had latched onto her enthusiasm, promising to return in a week with a blueprint that would bring her dream to life.
All thanks to Rohmir.
The money she had once reserved for rent had gone into securing the designers, and if it weren't for him, she wasn't sure how she would have made it work. That infuriating, infuriating warlock.
The apartment felt different as she stepped inside—smaller, as if her life had outgrown the space overnight. Melancholy settled over her like dust. Everything had changed so fast.
(This time, the key fit perfectly. She scolded herself. Rohmir never used a key—he never needed to. She should have known he was lying that day, but she had been too exhausted to question it.)
Inside, she immediately noticed the shift. The living room, kitchen, and bathroom were packed up, neat boxes stacked and labeled with an efficiency that screamed of Rohmir's hand.
She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.
You boxed up my things?
The reply came almost instantly. Only the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. I left your clothes and underwear.
She could feel his smirk through the text. Her fingers flew over the screen.
How kind of you.
I am, aren't I? But if you need help with the delicates...
She scoffed, rolling her eyes at his reply.
I'd rather set myself on fire.
Oh darling, I've got a hose here that can deal with Evie sized fires.
Heat flickered at the back of her neck. She shoved her phone into her pocket before he could say something worse.
True to his word, her personal things remained untouched, so she got to work. The process was methodical, her mind slipping into a rhythm—until a knock at the door shattered it.
She hesitated.
It wasn't Rohmir. She would have felt him.
When she opened the door, her stomach twisted.
Her father stood on the threshold, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, eyes flicking around like he was debating whether to run. The sight of him was jarring—a man she had inherited much from and yet nothing at all. His lean frame had once been formidable, but now it was diminished, his clothes hanging looser than she remembered. But the eyes...
Moss-green. Just like hers.
The same color that had stared back at her in the mirror her whole life, only his were dulled, like old coins worn from too many hands. A stark contrast to the fire burning behind hers.
Without waiting for an invitation, he brushed past her, stepping inside. His gaze swept over the packed boxes.
"Going somewhere?"
"Why do you care?" Evie's voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn't regret it. He always did this—appeared when he needed something, vanished when he got it.
Last time, he had walked out with every cent she had saved.
His eyes snapped to hers, his jaw tightening. "Hey. You don't talk to me like that. I'm still your father."
"You are not a father to me," she spat.
His expression darkened. "I saw you closed down the bookstore. Did you finally come to your senses and sell it? How much did you make off that piece of crap?"
The sheer audacity made her blood pressure spike. She had never felt this level of fury before—at least, not from something purely human.
"Get out," she warned.
He ignored her. "And you're moving." He took a step forward, his voice dropping into something almost sympathetic. "So if you're moving, you must have gotten quite a bit from selling it. I want my share."
Evie stilled.
"Your share?" Her voice was ice.
"Everything of yours is mine too. I'm your father—it's only normal."
He inched closer, lowering his voice. "I need that money, Evie. This is bigger than you. I have a debt to pay."
Something inside her snapped.
"If you're still upset about what happened last time," he muttered, rubbing his hands together then shrugged, "you need to get over it."
She hadn't expected an apology. But this?
A coldness slithered down her spine, coiling in her gut. Her fingers twitched, nails pressing into her palms. Inside her, something dark awakened. And it overtook her.
The front door slammed shut with a force that rattled the walls. A wind that should not have existed stirred through the apartment, threading through her hair like unseen fingers.
Her father flinched, his bravado cracking.
"You dare come back here," she whispered, her voice threaded with something other.
He took an instinctive step back. His green eyes reflected unease.
Evie no longer saw him. Not as a person. Not as her father.
She saw prey.
The apartment vanished. The walls, the ceiling, the floor—all swallowed by an infinite void.
They were nowhere.
And Evie... she was everything.
She stood before him, a specter of something divine and dreadful. The shadows at her feet slithered like living things, stretching too far, bending wrong.
And then—
Her eyes ignited.
No longer moss-green, but molten gold, swirling with solar flares and and golden hours of flames.
Heat rippled in the space between them. Reality bent under her gaze.
Then—gold.
Coins fell from the abyss above, endless and gleaming. They clinked as they landed at her feet, then rose again, spinning faster—too fast. Their edges sharpened, warping into deadly halos of molten metal.
You love money so much don't you...Dad?
The words weren't spoken. They slithered into his mind, cold and unbidden.
His breath hitched.
One golden blade shot forward—barely missing his face. The heat scorched his cheek, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.
He clutched his face, gasping. Suddenly his eyes were blinded. For a second, then a solar wind howled through his mind, behind his closed eyelids, a deep, ancient rumble that wasn't sound but something greater. He saw stars collapsing, coronal ejections flaring for miles, a universe-ending blaze swallowing all. His bones ached. His skin tingled—no, boiled—no, peeled.
The golden blades inched closer to his trembling body, promising only blood in their path.
Evie stepped forward.
"Tell me, Dad..." she whispered, tilting her head. "Was it worth all it?"
His life flashed before his eyes. And he broke.
"EVIE, STOP!" He yelled in desperation.
The world snapped back.
The apartment returned. The air cooled. The golden weapons vanished like dust.
Her father crumpled to his knees, gasping like a drowning man. Sweat drenched his face. His eyes—once so similar to hers—were now bloodshot, haunted.
Evie's breath was unsteady. Her hands trembled.
She had wanted to hurt him. And she had. The terrifying part? She hadn't even tried.
This was what Rohmir's power felt like? It was intoxicating.
And somewhere, she swore she could feel him watching, his voice a whisper at the back of her mind—
"Beautiful."