Some say the glass is half empty, others see it as half full. But I have only one question: Can I drink it?
Geri sat down on one of the bar stools without a word. Wordlessly, I put a glass of whisky in front of him—he immediately gulped it down. I refilled it—he drank that too.
"They will come for you," he stated. "I couldn't do anything."
He looked up at me, sorrow and guilt gleaming in his eyes. He was surprised when, even with the information, I looked calm and poured another glass.
"Did you know?" His question sounded more like a statement.
"I'm an informant," I shrugged and thought for a moment. "Today was the vote, tomorrow the case will go before the judges of the Crosspherat," I said quietly. "That's the way it is."
Geri nodded in confirmation.
"Aren't you trying to escape?" he said, as he beckoned for another round.
"No," I replied.
He laughed, but his voice was bitter.
Geri fell silent and measured the alcohol in his glass with a serious expression.
"What is this all about, Shay?" he asked quietly. "I know that if the kid was really behind the murders, you would have found out and stopped him."
"Maybe," I shrugged, wiping a glass.
Geri slapped the bar. "You're going to let yourself get caught when you're not guilty? You should fight, and stand your ground to the end! Are you willing to put up with—"
"Who says I've resigned myself?" I asked. "However, whatever I say, do you think the judges will believe me? In their eyes, I am guilty."
"What kind of truth is this?" he asked, looking at me inquiringly. "I have always believed that what I am fighting for is—"
"The truth is not always right," I said. "What is important is that the outcome is satisfactory. The culprit is caught, and everything returns to peaceful everyday life. Everyone thinks that good has won and all is right in the world. Isn't it?"
"Maybe, but—!" he protested.
"Remember, humans don't want to know what the real 'truth' is. Learn to accept it," I said.
"Then what the hell have I been fighting for?!" he shouted. "What the hell am I supposed to fight for now?"
"You fought for what you thought was right," I declared. "You will continue to fight for what you think is right. That's the only thing you can do."
"But... it's..." he muttered. "It's so fucking..."
"Annoying?" I helped him out.
Geri took a sip of his whisky, then put the still half-full glass back on the counter.
"Don't worry," I began, "You've known me for a long time, you of all people should know that I'm the most cunning monster in the world."
He looked up at me and watched me for a long moment.
"To find out who it is that wants me so badly, I must first let them catch me," I explained.
I wrapped my fingers around the ice-cold glass, then picked it up and drank the rest of the whisky. Geri whined a little about the missed drink but was visibly relieved.
(...)
I was just about to go home when Alice knocked on the doorframe to get my attention.
"Can we talk?" he said with a slight smile on his lips.
His smile was forced. At first, I thought Alice had seen my future and my plans. It would have been a very, very annoying prospect.
"You're not haunted by some vengeful ghost again, are you?" he asked nervously, and all my suspicions were gone.
"No, why?"
He handed me a diary, with a napkin marking the interesting pages. The tiny notebook opened around the napkin. I frowned and turned the page. Every night Alice wrote a few lines about the future—not very uninteresting information, like Coffee's father having a ball and Coffee wearing blue, or that Alex was having trouble with his transformation lately.
But I discovered two surprising things. The first was that he hadn't written a word about me. The second was that every night he wrote a name across the page in huge black letters.
"Julio?" I asked. "Do you know him?"
"No," he said. "I thought you might know something."
"What makes you think that?" I raised an eyebrow.
"When I consciously try to look into the future, my visions are always interrupted as soon as I see you, and only that name echoes in my ears. In your voice."
I went still, considering his words. My voice. The name Julio. And a future he couldn't glimpse.
"Let me see," I said, extending my hand.
Alice blinked, clearly taken aback. "You—" He hesitated. "You can enter someone else's consciousness?"
I didn't answer. I simply held my hand out, waiting.
His lips pressed into a thin line, wary, but then he exhaled and placed his hand in mine. The moment our skin touched, the world around me shifted.
I was no longer standing in the room. Instead, I found myself in a space that felt vast yet suffocating, stretching endlessly like an unfinished thought. Shadows flickered at the edges of my vision, twisting into unreadable shapes.
My breath caught.
It was me. I met my own gaze. But the me staring back wasn't quite… right. His jawline was sharper, his features more defined, and his expression carried a weight I wasn't used to seeing on my own face.
My gaze flickered lower. His clothes—my clothes—were different, yet oddly familiar. A high-collared coat, lined with black embroidery I couldn't quite place. It was something I had worn before, or perhaps something I would wear. The fabric looked slightly worn, not old, but lived in.
Then I noticed the most unsettling part.
He was taller. Not by much, but just enough that it was noticeable. His shoulders were broader, his stance heavier with the presence of time. He looked older—not drastically, but enough to make my stomach twist. Mid to late twenties? Approaching thirty, maybe?
This wasn't just a warped reflection. This was me, from a future I hadn't reached yet.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me in return, and the way he moved sent a shiver down my spine. Controlled. Measured. There was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty. Just inevitability.
Then his lips parted.
"Julio."
The sound struck me like a physical force, reverberating through my skull.
"Julio."
Louder this time. The vision trembled, distorting, the walls cracking like fractured glass.
Then he moved. One step closer. Then another. He was right in front of me now. Close enough that I could see the faintest trace of time etched into his face.
"Julio."
Then his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. Cold. Freezing. The ink surged up, swallowing us both whole—
I wrenched back with a gasp, my body slamming into reality as the vision shattered. My pulse thundered in my ears as I met his expectant gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes searched mine, sharp with understanding.
"You saw it," Alice said. Not a question.
"It was me," I said. "But not… me. Older. Taller. Different."
Alice frowned, considering this. "A future version of you?"
"Maybe," I admitted. But the clothes—it felt like something I already knew. Not distant, not unfamiliar. Like a path I've already started walking.
Alice didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied me carefully before finally asking, "And the name? Julio. Did you recognize it?"
I hesitated, then shook my head. "No." But even as I said it, I couldn't shake the feeling that he—the man in the vision—did.
Alice didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but I couldn't tell him anything that would satisfy him anyway, so I didn't bother.
Alice's frustration was palpable, though he tried to mask it with a tight-lipped smile. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with his thoughts.
"Alright," he said finally, with a resigned sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to keep trying."
I nodded, giving him a reassuring look, though I couldn't shake off the unease the name "Julio" stirred within me. The ink-stained memory lingered behind my eyelids, the sound of my own voice still echoing.
As Alice prepared to leave, I watched him with a contemplative expression. "Alice, if you have any other visions or if anything else about Julio comes up, let me know."
He gave me a nod, his gaze distant as he contemplated the mysterious name. "I will."
With that, Alice walked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
(...)
Two figures sat in the courtroom.
George Willingham cleared his throat, letting the sound linger in the air before he spoke—an unnecessary pause, designed to ensure his words carried the right weight.
"Gábor, I think this matter has escalated beyond our control," he said carefully. "Would you disagree?"
"No." The head of the Roubál family shook his head, his voice heavy with finality. "You are absolutely right."
George pressed on, his tone smooth but insidious. "And his intentions remain unknown. He is not bound by oath—he could just as easily turn against us."
Gábor's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, his expression unreadable. "I know what the evidence suggests," he said at last, the pause between his words deliberate. Then, with a resigned nod, he added, "I'll grant you permission to arrest him."
George rose, bowing deeply. "Yes, sir."
The moment Willingham left, Gábor remained seated, absentmindedly swirling the wine in his glass without ever taking a sip. After a long silence, he sighed, set the untouched glass on the table, and walked out, his steps heavy with unease.
The memory wavered, dissolving into a smoky haze before my eyes. The chill of Simon's touch lingered against the back of my hand for several moments before finally fading.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a low, supernatural voice.
I looked up at the ghost, who had never before seemed so uncertain.
"Yes," I nodded. "I expected things to turn out like this."
Simon gave me another worried look before disappearing. With nothing else to do, I climbed out of bed and returned to gathering information. I needed details on the protective spells of Acheron, so I focused on that as I sneaked into the locked section of the Rosenstein library.
I found a volume without a title, which I found intriguing. I had to read the succession of German words scrawled on the pages in ornate handwriting several times before making any sense of it. The note, only four pages long, was about the famous prison. The old-fashioned terminology and magical expressions made it challenging to decipher. I turned the note over in my hands for hours before I managed to understand it—more or less. After that, with noble simplicity, I decided to steal it and continue research at home.
I frowned so hard it was almost painful. I just couldn't find a blind spot in the defences. The cells were three by three meters, amplifying the effect of the charms. Holding onto the bars caused incredible pain, so escape through them was impossible. The walls had iron bars and special spells to ensure that breaking through was out of the question.
Suddenly, the page of the book slipped from my fingers and fell on top of the others. I turned a few pages and stopped at the last one. It was filled with notes about the arena's defences. The runes carved into the concrete and the magical dome overhead ensured that even a horde of mountain trolls couldn't escape. No monster could get out. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Sitting on the windowsill, Hermes was waiting. I let the bird in, then got the note tied to his leg. He flew away at once.
[The Crospherate has called a meeting to which all family members have been invited except for you, your brother, and myself. You know what that means. — Mica]
The letter came late. By then, I had long known my fate.
My door opened abruptly, and I hid the letter in my pocket just in time to prevent my visitor from noticing.
"What's the matter with you?" Rolo questioned me.
"What do you mean?" I retorted.
"You hardly eat, you hardly talk, you just stare at nothing," he informed me, "as if you weren't even you!"
"Somehow I expected that monologue from Alex," I noted.
"Don't worry, he complains to me all day long!" the kid said. "I can't stand his whining about something being wrong with you anymore. So just spit it out already!"
"I'll show you," I said and left the room without looking back to see if Rolo was following me.
He squeaked softly when he realized where we were going—Babel. He was even more surprised when I hid us both with my ring. We walked for a long time, up and down many steps, yet Rolo didn't complain. When I judged that we had circled enough and could not be followed, I stopped.
I guided the kid to a particular shelf in the library, and then gripped the book and whispered the magic word. Rolo's eyes widened at the familiar pull of the spell, and when he found himself in the room, he looked around carefully.
"This is the place to remember," I said. "That insufferable old man usually holds his secret meetings here."
I remained silent for a while as Rolo surveyed every square inch of the meeting room.
"I don't want you to say a word of this to Alex. At least not yet."
His eyes widened with shock.
"Why?" he asked.
"Do you really want to know?"
He held my gaze for a second, then turned his head to the side.
"I'm going to be arrested soon," I stated bluntly. "I brought you here because if that happens, that lunatic will surely rush to my rescue without a second thought. Alice will surely stop Des, but Alex will not listen to reason—nor to anyone in general. I want you to be the one who keeps him from going on any suicide missions. Failing that, knowing this location will give you a better chance of survival."
"Why… why are you telling me this?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"If I told the others, Alex would keep trying to convince me to run, or Des would just knock me out and run away with me. Both options are annoying."
"Why don't you run away?" he asked in an almost broken voice.
"Would that solve anything?" I questioned. "So, will you keep my secret?"
Rolo did not answer. He just stood there, speechless, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Good boy," I ruffled his hair.
"I'm not a child!" he snarled and slapped my hand away.
I giggled, and he puffed.
"Shay," he said, his voice shaking heartbreakingly, "what will happen next? You… will you…"
I smiled. At that moment, Rolo was acting his age for the first time in a long time.
"Don't worry," I said. "I'm just luring the enemy out. When I have everything ready, we will fight them together."
Rolo remained silent for a long time, and I did not speak.
When I got home, I stretched, then took off my shirt and fell between the pillows and duvet. I sighed deeply, sorted my thoughts, and sat up.
Before I could rest, I knew I had one last touch to my plan. I picked up the pen and two small sheets of paper from the desk, scribbled my messages, and left the room. I placed one of the notes in Alex's bedside drawer with the fae ring, and then moments later, I was standing in the garden. My footsteps were soft as I walked through the garden, following the scent of the rat. The bush trembled; the disgusting animal knew it could not escape me.
"Come out, I promise I won't hurt you," I said.
The rat poked its head out of the leaves, distrustful.
I held up the piece of paper.