The bar was a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the steady hum of music. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting an unnatural glow over the patrons hunched over their drinks. Alastor stood at the threshold, his eyes scanning the room with an unmistakable air of discomfort. The volume of the chatter, the dissonant melody of conversations weaving through the air, and the clinking of glasses created a dizzying storm of noise that made him feel as though he were standing at the edge of a great chasm. He hadn't realized it was possible for humans to be so loud, and the sensation was unsettling.
The dim lighting contrasted sharply with the bright, sterile clarity of his usual surroundings, the gleaming surfaces of his preferred haunts far removed from the chaos around him. He didn't understand why humans found this so appealing. The clamor of voices, the overpowering scents of cheap cologne, sweat, and alcohol—it all felt overwhelming. Yet, as Jack strolled forward with his easy confidence, Alastor felt his unease deepen.
Jack, on the other hand, was at home here. He nodded at a few faces in the crowd, exchanging greetings with a few regulars who waved back at him with grins. Alastor followed him, trying to match his pace but feeling like an outsider, like an alien. Despite his desire to observe, he couldn't shake the sensation of being out of place.
At the counter, a broad-shouldered man named Ray sat nursing a glass of amber liquid. He turned as Jack approached, his face lighting up with a grin. "Well, if it isn't Jack," he said, his tone warm. "Where've you been hiding?"
Jack clapped him on the shoulder with an easy laugh. "Ray, my man! It's been a minute. Got busy, you know how it is." He gestured to Alastor, who hovered uncertainly behind him. "This here's Alastor. He's new around here, so I figured I'd introduce him to the best spot in town."
Ray raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze shifting to Alastor. "New, huh? Well, welcome to our little corner of chaos." He extended a hand. "Ray. Jack talks a lot, but he keeps decent company."
Alastor hesitated before shaking Ray's hand, his grip firm but uncertain. "A pleasure," he said, his voice formal.
Ray chuckled. "Man, you're a little stiff. Stick with Jack long enough, and you'll loosen up. He's good at dragging people into trouble."
"Hey!" Jack protested, grinning. "I'm a bad influence in all the best ways."
Ray smirked, then gestured toward the bar. "You guys getting drinks? Carla's working tonight."
"Absolutely," Jack said, sliding onto a stool and motioning for Alastor to do the same. "Carla's the best."
The bartender, Carla, approached with a practiced smile. "What'll it be, Jack? The usual?"
"You know it," Jack replied smoothly. He turned to Alastor. "What about you, man?"
Alastor hesitated, his eyes scanning the menu as though it might reveal some hidden truth about human preferences. The names of the drinks blurred together. "I... I'm not sure. Could you recommend something?" he asked, his tone faltering slightly.
Jack raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Again with that? The menu's right there, dude. Come on, just pick something."
Carla studied Alastor for a moment before sliding a drink across the counter with a wink. "Try this one," she said. "It's a house favorite. Not too strong, but good enough to take the edge off."
Alastor accepted the glass, his fingers brushing the condensation on the surface. "Thank you," he said, though his uncertainty was clear.
Jack leaned back, grinning. "See? Easy. Now you're officially one of us."
Ray laughed, taking another sip of his drink. "Don't let him pressure you, Alastor. First drink's always awkward." He clinked his glass lightly against Alastor's. "Welcome to the crew."
Alastor managed a faint smile, his discomfort still evident but softened by the camaraderie. "I'll do my best."
Across the counter, Emily was feeling the weight of her frustration. She leaned against the counter, her eyes unfocused, her mind lost in a fog of alcohol and unresolved questions. The events of the past few days had pushed her to the brink. The investigation into Levanzo had come to a dead end, her attempts to get answers from Rachel had only resulted in silence, and still, no one seemed willing to give her the answers she so desperately sought. It felt like she was walking through quicksand—every step forward only dragged her deeper into confusion.
But amidst the turmoil, one thought kept circling back to her, gnawing at the edges of her sanity—Alastor. There was something about him, something she couldn't shake. He had a way of stepping into her thoughts uninvited, his face, his voice, the quiet intensity in his eyes that seemed to hold secrets she couldn't decode. And then there was the maddening fact that he managed to infuriate her and intrigue her in equal measure.
She clenched her jaw, gripping the glass in her hand as her frustration mounted. He was an enigma, and it frustrated her to no end that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't figure him out. Worse still, she wasn't sure if her anger at him came from her inability to crack the mystery—or from the way her chest tightened whenever she thought of him.
Her head spun as she drank the last of her drink, the liquid burning down her throat as if it could somehow provide clarity, or at the very least, courage. When she slammed the empty glass on the counter, she caught sight of him across the room—Alastor, standing there with Jack and Ray at the counter.
Ray had been nursing his drink, chuckling at one of Jack's jokes, when Emily's figure approached like a storm. He noticed the way her eyes seemed locked on Alastor, her expression a mix of frustration and determination.
"Uh-oh," Ray muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward Jack. "Your friend's about to get hit with something. She doesn't look happy."
Jack turned in time to see Emily stride toward them, her movements sharp despite the slight sway of her steps. "Oh boy," he said, wincing. "Here we go."
Emily stopped in front of them, her hands planted firmly on the counter as she fixed Alastor with an intense stare. Alastor's eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected to see her again, not here, not like this.
Jack, ever the charmer, greeted her warmly. "Well, well, if it isn't Emily. Long time no see."
"Yeah, I didn't expect to see you here either," Alastor muttered, his voice tight with that same awkwardness he always felt around her.
Emily laughed, though it came out a little too sharp. "Yeah, well, I'm just... full of surprises." Her voice shifted, growing more pointed. "You, though... you've been keeping something from me, haven't you?"
Alastor's smile faltered, the pleasant facade cracking. "What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
But Emily was having none of it. Her tone sharpened as she leaned in closer. "Don't think I didn't notice. You're not just some regular guy, Alastor. You're different. You're... not human, are you?"
The words spilled out, almost too loudly, and the bar seemed to pause for a moment. Several people turned toward the four of them. Jack froze, his brow furrowing as he processed her words, and Alastor's discomfort deepened. Ray looked between Emily and Alastor, his confusion evident.
"Not human?" Ray echoed, frowning. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Emily ignored him, her frustration spilling over as she pressed closer to Alastor. "I've seen it. The way you move, the way you—everything about you! You're an alien, aren't you?"
The accusation hung in the air, and Alastor was momentarily taken aback, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Jack's eyes darted between them, unsure whether to intervene or let the situation play out.
Jack shifted uneasily, his mind now grappling with the suspicion that had slowly been growing in the back of his mind. He'd always known there was something off about Alastor, something unspoken, a sense of detachment that didn't quite fit with human behavior. The idea that Emily might be right hit him harder than he expected.
Was Alastor... something else? Jack's thoughts spiraled. The way Alastor always seemed to anticipate situations before they happened, how he never broke a sweat even under pressure—it wasn't normal. Then there was that odd calm, the distant way he sometimes looked at things, like he was viewing the world through a lens no one else could see.
Jack couldn't shake the thought. The possibility made his stomach twist in ways he didn't know how to describe. Was his friend even human? It seemed ridiculous, but then again, so much about Alastor didn't make sense.
"What are you talking about?" Alastor tried to stay calm, though a flicker of unease rippled through him.
Jack, sensing the escalating tension, raised a hand in an attempt to smooth things over. "Hey, Emily, you're a little drunk, alright? Maybe you should sit this one out."
"Drunk?" Alastor muttered under his breath, clearly confused. "What does that mean?"
Ray blinked. "Seriously? You don't know what being drunk is?" He turned to Jack. "Okay, now I'm starting to think she might be onto something."
Emily, however, wasn't about to stop. Her expression darkened, her frustration spilling over as she pushed closer to him, her voice now cracking with a mix of anger and something deeper. "You're hiding something. I know you are! I've seen it. The way you move, the way you—everything about you! You're an alien, aren't you?"
The accusation hung in the air, and Alastor was momentarily taken aback, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. Jack's eyes darted between them, unsure whether to intervene or let the situation play out. The moment seemed to stretch on, and a few more patrons shifted uncomfortably, casting sidelong glances at Alastor, their conversations stalling for a beat before the noise slowly began to creep back in. The room settled into a new kind of buzz—a mix of gossip and half-heard chatter—as the focus shifted away from the confrontation, the excitement draining away as quickly as it had appeared.
Emily, barely able to contain her thoughts, moved closer to him, her breathing uneven. "You know what? I can't take it anymore. I—"
In a sudden, impulsive act, she reached up, grasping his face, and kissed him.
Alastor, completely unprepared, stood frozen for a moment. His mind screamed at him to pull away, but for some reason, he didn't. He kissed her back, his lips brushing hers instinctively, before his senses snapped back, and he pulled away quickly.
Shocked. Conflicted. He could feel the heat of the kiss still lingering, but the situation was spiraling out of control. His mind was a whirlwind, the weight of what just happened crashing down on him like a tidal wave. And then, unbidden, another memory surged to the forefront of his thoughts—a memory of Rachel.
Rachel.
Her name echoed in his mind like a whisper, pulling him back to another moment, another place. He remembered the kiss they'd shared on a night when everything had felt equally unsteady. It wasn't born of love, not entirely, but of a shared loneliness and the strange, magnetic pull they seemed to have toward one another. Yet here he was now, his lips tingling from another kiss—Emily's kiss.
His chest tightened as the two moments overlapped in his mind, the warmth of Rachel's lips bleeding into the present sensation of Emily's. How had he let it come to this? He wasn't someone who got tangled up in emotions like this. He couldn't afford to be.
But now? Now it was too late. His heart raced, and for the first time in years, he felt truly off balance. Rachel was someone he cared for deeply, though he'd never allowed himself to define it. And Emily? She was a mystery, a storm that had swept into his life.
Alastor clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on the present. Jack stood to the side, stunned. His eyes flicked between the two of them, his own confusion giving way to a growing suspicion. What had just happened? What had he just witnessed? He couldn't shake the thought that Emily might have been right. Was Alastor truly... not human? The idea seemed ridiculous, but something about him, something deep down, made it feel like it could be true.
For a moment, all Alastor could do was stare at Emily, who now looked even more lost than before. And Alastor? He was left with a tangled mess of thoughts and emotions that made no sense at all.
He couldn't let this distract him. Not now. But as much as he tried to push it down, the weight of it remained, heavy and unavoidable. Two kisses. Two women. And a heart caught between duty and something he couldn't name.
Emily's head spun as the kiss lingered in her mind, like a dull ache she couldn't shake off. Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol still pulsing in her veins. For a moment, everything seemed to go silent. She pulled back slowly as if she were still trying to convince herself that the impulsive kiss had even happened.
The warmth of it, the confusion, the rawness—it all felt wrong. But it was too late. Her lips tingled, her face flushed, and she suddenly felt a weight pressing on her chest, suffocating her.
"Shit," she whispered under her breath, the harsh reality of what she'd done crashing over her like a wave. Why did I…?
Without saying another word, Emily quickly looked away from Alastor, unable to meet his eyes. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a gnawing embarrassment eating at her, and she took a step back. Her legs wobbled, unsteady from the alcohol and the whirlwind of her own spiraling thoughts.
"I—" She began, her voice faltering, but she didn't know how to finish the sentence. Instead, she spun on her heel, desperate to put distance between herself and the uncomfortable mess she'd just created. Her eyes darted to the exit. It was the only place she could go to escape the pressure building in her chest.
Without another word, she headed for the door, stumbling through the crowd of patrons who were now talking in hushed whispers. The noise of the bar seemed to grow distant, muffled, as she pushed through the door and into the night air, hoping it would help clear her head.
The cool breeze hit her like a slap in the face, and she took a deep breath, trying to ground herself. What the hell was that?
Inside, Alastor stood frozen for a moment, his mind reeling. He didn't know what to make of the kiss, of Emily's sudden departure. His eyes tracked her retreating figure, but there was little time to process it further. His attention was jerked away by a soft but unmistakable sound—the door to the back of the bar creaking open. A movement in the shadows.
The men emerged, sleek and silent, their dark gear absorbing the dim light. They moved with deadly precision, their bodies gliding in sync, like soldiers on a covert mission. The sound of sharp metal scraping against leather filled the air as the group of masked men, armed with strange, gleaming blades, entered the room.
Jack's eyes snapped to them, his body going rigid with recognition. He knew exactly what those weapons were.
"Starbreaker," he muttered under his breath, the words coming out like a curse. The men were already making their way deeper into the room. A few patrons turned, whispering nervously among themselves.
The whispers turned to murmurs, then to sharp gasps as more people noticed the weapons. Chairs scraped against the floor as some tried to discreetly move away, their faces pale with fear. A glass slipped from someone's hand, shattering loudly and making a few patrons jump.
"What's happening?" a woman whispered frantically, clutching her partner's arm.
"I don't know," he replied, his voice trembling, "but those guys don't look like they're here for drinks."
Alastor's brow furrowed as he caught sight of the dark blades. His heart sank as he recognized the telltale signs of Starbreaker weapons—blades infused with dark energy, weapons specifically designed to subdue beings like him. It wasn't just a fight he was facing—it was a trap. These weapons could sap his strength, weaken him before he could even retaliate.
As he tracked their movements, a voice from the group broke the low hum of tension in the air.
"Where is Solvaris Tharion?" one of the men demanded, his voice cold and metallic beneath his mask.
The name sent a chill down Alastor's spine. Solvaris Tharion? That was him—at least, it was a name he carried in years, from a life he thought was buried. His pulse quickened as he realized they were looking for him.
The men scanned the bar, their masked faces sweeping the crowd, but the room was dense with people, and they hadn't spotted him yet. One of them stepped forward, gripping his Starbreaker blade tighter. "He's here," the man said with certainty. "Spread out. Find him."
Panic rippled through the crowd as the masked men began to spread out. A man near the bar stumbled as he tried to back away, nearly toppling over a chair.
"Are they after us?" someone shouted from the back, their voice trembling.
"No! Just stay calm!" another yelled, though the quiver in their tone betrayed their own fear.
Carla, the bartender, peeked out from behind the counter where she'd instinctively ducked, her face pale. "Jack," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell is going on?"
Ray, still seated near the counter with his drink in hand, stood abruptly, his gaze darting between the masked men and Jack. "This doesn't look like something we want to stick around for," he muttered, edging back toward the others.
Jack's voice broke through the growing panic. "Get out, now!" Jack shouted, his tone commanding. His eyes scanned the room, quickly assessing the situation. "Alastor, you handle the crowd. I'll take care of these guys."
Alastor hesitated, his gaze locked on the men moving closer to the bar. He could feel the pull of the dark energy coming from their weapons, could feel them siphoning power from him already. His jaw clenched, and his fingers twitched at his sides, itching to respond. He didn't want to let Jack take this on alone.
"I can handle them," Alastor replied, his voice low and steady, though the tension in his posture was clear. His eyes flicked over the men, calculating their movements. "You get the crowd to safety. I'll deal with the threats."
Jack's eyes widened. "No, man, don't be crazy. We need to get everyone out of here first! You're going to burn yourself out trying to take them all on."
Alastor glared at him, his expression hardening. "It will be okay," he insisted, his gaze flicking back to the masked men closing in. "You keep the crowd safe. I won't let them get any closer."
Jack's mind raced as he watched Alastor's steely gaze locked on the approaching masked men. His words echoed in Jack's thoughts, "It will be okay." The calmness in his voice, so stark against the danger closing in, had settled over Jack like a strange kind of anchor. For just a moment, Jack had wanted to believe it—wanted to trust that, somehow, Alastor could keep them both safe.
But the fear clawed at him. The situation was slipping out of control, and Alastor's determination wasn't enough to push back the gnawing doubt. "It will be okay," he had said. But how? How could it possibly be okay when everything seemed on the brink of falling apart?
Jack shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Alastor was handling the threat, and Jack had a responsibility to the crowd. He turned back, his voice ringing out, "Everyone, head for the back! Get out now, don't stop for anything!"
The crowd was starting to panic, but Jack's voice cut through their fear like a blade. He pointed to the back exit, ushering people in that direction. Carla jumped out from behind the counter, waving her hands to direct the patrons.
"Come on, people, move!" Carla barked, her authoritative tone cutting through the noise.
Ray hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking toward Jack. "You better not get yourself killed, man," he muttered before joining the growing line of people heading for the exit.
Jack nodded sharply at Ray, his jaw set. "Just go. I'll be fine."
Meanwhile, Emily, who had just reached the door, stopped in her tracks. The bar was in full panic mode now, and despite her intention to leave, she couldn't just walk out—not with what was happening. She turned back to the scene, glancing at Jack as he moved to herd the people toward safety.
Seeing the crowd's fear, Emily's instincts kicked in. She didn't even hesitate. She pushed through the bar again, moving quickly to the nearest group of people who were still frozen in place. "Come on, move it!" she shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. "Get to the back, now!"
Her words were enough to snap the patrons into motion. Some were still too afraid to move, but Emily grabbed their arms and pulled them toward the exit.
Her hands were trembling, but there was no time to worry about that. She could feel the weight of the situation pressing in on her. They needed to escape, and they needed to do it quickly.
Meanwhile, Jack was still pushing people out the back, and Alastor was watching the masked men move into position. His focus sharpened, but he could feel the drain of the Starbreaker weapons pulling at him. The dark energy in the blades was sapping his strength, making every movement feel heavier, slower. But he couldn't show weakness. Not now.
As Emily helped usher people toward the back, she looked up at the group of men moving toward the bar. She couldn't fight them but she could make sure the crowd escaped.
Alastor stood still, his muscles coiled, ready for the moment the men would finally close in. He wanted to act, to retaliate, but every part of him knew he couldn't. Not yet.
And then, from the midst of the group, one of the men moved forward. His pace was calm, controlled, as though he had all the time in the world. He wore the same dark attire and mask as the others, but as he neared the bar, he reached up, pulling at the collar of his coat.
The fabric slid off his shoulders, revealing a sleek, form-fitting suit beneath. The man's movements were deliberate as he peeled off the final layer of his coat, a quiet rustle in the silence that hung in the air.
The mask, matching the others, covered most of his face, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—were visible, and they locked onto Alastor's. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, barely visible beneath the mask, but it was enough to send a chill down Alastor's spine.
"Solvaris," the man said, his voice low and deliberate, the name striking like a whip. "We've been waiting to see you."
Alastor's gut tightened. The name, his real name, hung in the air like a threat. He didn't recognize this man, but the expression in his eyes told him everything—this wasn't a guess. This man knew.
The man's gaze bore into him, sizing him up with unnerving precision. He wasn't just searching for signs; he was confirming them, and from the moment their eyes met, Alastor knew the trap was already closing in.