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“When I was little,” Takeshi’s hypnotic voice drew her attention, “my mother would bring home pallets of color and small brushes in Apollo. The first time, she laid out sheets of paper on the ground, and we dipped our hands in the paint. She hung up a dozen images of our hands overlapping, always saying that I brought color to her world, and she wanted me to spread it.”

Takeshi’s small smile was melancholy, tinged with layers of moments he wanted to keep forever, and others Takeshi looked like he wanted to erase.

“She taught me how to paint and, over time, the whole house was covered with my drawings. But when my stepfather, Hector,moved us to Genesis, she put them in a box and never hung them.” He hesitated, the distance in his eyes increasing. “I used to draw in my room at night when I heard them fighting and would hide my pictures under the bed. After I found out he hit her and I enlisted to become a guard, I never picked up a brush again. But in another life, I think I would’ve simply enjoyed painting.”

The lines in her forehead deepened as Khalani stared at him.

She thought about what Takeshi must have been like as a child. Caring. Innocent. Wanting to see his mom smile.

Heart made for beauty.

Hands molded for destruction.

But Takeshi didn’t want pity. He didn’t see himself as a victim. He chose to attack each weakness until it became a strength.

And somewhere along the way, he’d lost the innocent kid who wanted to paint the black and white world in color.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Khalani leaned her head against the wall, looking her fill of him.

“What’s that?”

“When we get back to Hermes, I’ll ask Spade or Raziel to track us down some brushes and paint. It’s the least they can do after what we’ve gone through,” she spoke rapidly, her cheeks reddening as Takeshi’s black gaze bore into her.

The weight of his stare was too physical. Too penetrating. The tiny cell felt like it was shrinking, and she wanted to disappear into the white walls by the time Takeshi finally replied,

“And what is it that you want in return, Kanes?”

She pulled back at his unexpected question.

What did she want? She couldn’t even remember anymore.

“Just draw one picture for me,” Khalani said instinctively.

“Of what?”

“Anything.” She smiled, trying to return some air back to the room. “Wherever your heart takes you.”

“I thought I didn’t have a heart,” Takeshi half-joked but the faintest flicker of pain still lingered in his eyes.

“Takeshi, you know what I said—”

“It’s alright, Kanes. You were speaking your truth,” he interrupted. “Others who know me well would’ve said the same thing.”

His heavy gaze lifted and it felt like he was warning her that the sweet kid who once painted pictures for his mother was long gone. But Khalani knew Takeshi pushed people away when they veered too close.

He’d rather be the lonesome killer than be vulnerable.

And that’s what art did.

Spread your vulnerabilities out for the world to judge.

“Then you can paint me what it means to be heartless.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do we have a deal?”

Takeshi didn’t answer. His burning stare made her believe that if the truth could release, the darkest and most beautiful poetry would spill past his lips.

But after a long moment, Takeshi nodded.

A smile formed on her face, and she leaned forward, extending her pinky.