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"Mmm." She doesn't look convinced. "Well, don't get too satisfied yet. Getting me off this floating island won't be simple."
"Leave that to me." I gesture toward the path leading back to the compound. "Get your belongings. We leave tonight."
"Tonight?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "That's... fast."
"Is there something keeping you here?"
"No," she answers quickly. "Just my girls—the other humans. I need to say goodbye." I can tell she doesn't want to leave, probably feels guilty too, but she can't keep giving parts of herself to save others. She has to know she won't keep surviving. Maybe that's why she agreed to this in the first place.
I nod, strangely moved by her loyalty. "Lead the way."
Trinity hesitates for just a moment before turning, and I fall into step beside her. We walk in companionable silence through the moonlit gardens, and I find myself studying her profile. The defiant tilt of her chin, the quiet determination in her stride.
I've had countless blood-soaked missions, faced enemies that would make most demons tremble. Yet somehow, walking beside this slender human woman feels distinctly like one of the most consequential decisions of my long life.
I shove the thought away, reminding myself this is business—a transaction beneficial to us both. Nothing more.
But as Trinity glances up at me, that small, genuine smile playing at her lips again, I'm not entirely convinced I believe my own lie.
7
VAEL
Trinity's expression hardens as we approach the entrance to the dungeons. The playful spark that had briefly lit her eyes in the garden dims, replaced by something cooler, more calculated. I watch her transformation with fascination—the way her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her entire demeanor shifting into the practiced façade I first witnessed.
"Stay close," she murmurs as we reach the entrance to the compound. "And try to look... possessive."
I raise an eyebrow at the instruction, but follow her lead. When we pass the first guard—a hulking brute with curved horns and dull eyes—I let my hand settle at the small of her back. The guard's gaze slides over Trinity with momentary interest before landing on me. Recognition flickers across his features, followed by immediate deference. He steps aside without a word.
Trinity's pulse jumps beneath my palm, but her expression remains neutral. Impressively so.
"They know you," she whispers as we move past the guard station.
"I have a certain reputation." I don't elaborate. Let her imagine what kind of work earns that particular brand of fearful respect. Even here, word of who killed that spineless demon in the alley spread fast.
The dungeons reek of sweat and desperation, the stench growing stronger as Trinity leads me down winding corridors. My jaw clenches at the conditions—dark, damp cells crowded with thin, haunted-looking human women. Some press against the bars as we pass, eyes widening at the sight of Trinity walking freely with a demon. Others shrink back, terror etched into their gaunt faces.
Trinity stops at the largest cell, where perhaps fifteen women huddle together on scattered blankets and threadbare pallets.
"It's me," she calls softly, and the response is immediate—several women rush to the bars, relief washing over their features.
"Trinity!" A young girl with matted blonde hair reaches through the bars, clutching at Trinity's hand. "We thought—when you didn't come back?—"
"I know, Mira." Trinity squeezes the girl's hand. "I'm alright."
Another guard approaches, his eyes narrowing at our presence. "You have business here?"
Before Trinity can respond, I step forward, towering over the lesser demon. "My business isn't your concern."
He shrinks back instantly, muttering apologies. "Of course, sir. Forgive the interruption."
"Open the cell," I command.
The guard fumbles with a ring of keys, hands shaking slightly as he unlocks the heavy door. Trinity slips inside immediately, and I remain at the threshold, watching as the women surround her, touching her arms and face as if confirming she's real.
"I need to collect my things," Trinity explains, breaking away from their embrace to move toward a small bundle tucked intothe corner of the cell. Her movements are efficient, practiced, as she gathers what little she owns, which doesn't appear to be much.
"You're leaving?" The girl called Mira asks, voice breaking. "For good?"