Above the sprawling metropolis of Voidium City, birds flew through the skies, narrowly dodging the jagged spires of skyscrapers. Below, the streets buzzed with life, where gleaming cars prowled the immense streets, and the afternoon breeze whispered through the neighbourhoods. In one district, a police station stood as a bastion of order amidst the chaos. Officers hustled in and out, some laden with urgency, while others lingered over paper bags of freshly bought donuts, savouring stolen moments of calm. 

Within the heart of the station, a well-lit interrogation room gleamed sterile, its one-way mirror concealing watchful eyes. At its centre sat a lone teenager. His jet-black hair, dark as the void itself, framed a face that seemed carved from marble by a divine hand, striking and perfect. His black-tinted sunglasses sat firmly on his nose, an oddity in the fluorescent-lit space, as if the sun's glare could reach him even here. A black hoodie with the hood pulled low concealed part of his profile, paired with baggy black jeans and scuffed black shoes.

In his hands was a vibrant cube, its coloured squares a stark contrast to his monochrome presence. With unerring precision, his fingers danced over its surfaces, twisting and turning until the puzzle was flawless, each hue resting in perfect harmony. He chuckled as his voice echoed through the empty room.

The teenager leaned back in his chair, the faint squeak of the metal legs breaking the tense silence of the room. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he turned the solved cube idly in his hands. 

"Are you guys coming out?" he called, his voice calm but tinged with amusement. "It's getting boring in here. I've got a fox waiting for me at home, and honestly..." He tilted his head, the sunglasses catching the sterile light. "...don't blame me if it decides to hunt you down for keeping me here." 

The smirk grew, his words hanging in the air, playful yet carrying an edge that was hard to ignore.

Abruptly, the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with sharp, angular features and a perpetually cold expression. He carried a worn folder under his arm, its edges frayed from frequent use. His tailored suit, though immaculate, did little to mask the air of exhaustion clinging to him. Behind him stood a young trainee, nervously clutching a folder labelled in bold letters: "Psych Evaluation, Azriel V." Her eyes darted between the teenager and her superior, clearly uncertain about whether to sit or flee. 

The man, Mike, paused just long enough to let out a deep, weary sigh before stepping in. Pulling the chair opposite the teenager, he sank into it with deliberate heaviness, flipping open his folder. Another sigh escaped him, more pronounced this time, as he scanned its contents. 

The teenager, Azriel, chuckled softly, the sound light but teasing. Tossing the solved cube into the air with lazy precision, he caught it effortlessly and spoke, his tone dripping with mock concern. 

"Y'know, excessive sighing might be a sign of an underlying health condition. You should really get that checked out. No need to thank me, of course—always glad to help my dear public servants." 

He paused, his grin stretching wider as he slowly lowered his sunglasses, revealing eyes that gleamed an otherworldly bright blue, swirling with a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of stars. They seemed to shimmer and shift, as though holding galaxies within their depths. 

"How's your wife, by the way, Mike?" he added, his voice dripping with feigned innocence, the celestial glow of his gaze making the question feel like both a casual inquiry and a veiled challenge. 

Mike's lips twitched, the professional facade threatening to crack as his shoulders stiffened. Behind him, the trainee's grip on the folder tightened, her eyes wide at the casual mention of her superior's personal life. 

"Ugh... Azriel," Mike groaned, rubbing his temples as if to stave off a headache, "can you stop showing up here all the time? This is a police station, not a daycare. Your grandfather won't like it when I tell him what happened... again." 

Azriel leaned back with a grin, spinning the cube effortlessly in his fingers. "Oh, c'mon, Mike. You act like this isn't the highlight of your day." 

The trainee glanced nervously at Mike, who shot her a warning look. "Don't even think about opening that folder," he muttered. She gulped and nodded, taking an awkward step back as Azriel's grin widened further.

Mike sighed again, this one deeper and more resigned, as if Azriel's presence alone drained his patience. He didn't even flinch at the teenager's ever-widening grin or the unsettling glint of his starlit eyes. Glancing at the folder in his hands, then back at Azriel, he finally spoke, his voice heavy with fatigue. 

"So, Azriel... another street fight, huh? What's this... uh, the fourth time we've had to bring you in?" 

"Bingo," Azriel said with a smirk, giving an exaggerated thumbs-up before casually flipping the colourful cube into the air again. 

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed once more, visibly bracing himself. "Alright, I won't lecture you again, especially since this time, according to witnesses, you weren't the one who started it." He paused, narrowing his eyes at Azriel. "But did you really have to be so brutal? Those guys are likely to be in the hospital for months." 

Azriel shrugged, nonchalant, as the cube spun effortlessly between his fingers. "If you lift your fists to fight, be prepared to get rocked. It's as easy as that." 

Mike groaned, running a hand down his face. "Whatever. But you can't keep doing this, Azriel. You can't keep skating by just because of your grandfather's influence. Sooner or later, it's going to catch up to you." He hesitated before continuing, his tone softening just slightly. "Have you thought about joining the military or the Guild Association? Might give you a better outlet for... this." 

Azriel rolled his eyes, lazily tossing the cube higher before catching it without looking. "They won't take me. That dumb psych evaluation killed my chances. Personally, I don't see anything wrong with me. You guys are just imagining things." 

Behind Mike, the trainee awkwardly adjusted the folder labelled "Psych Evaluation, Azriel V." and took a small step back, avoiding Azriel's piercing gaze. Mike stared at him, exasperated, while Azriel continued grinning, utterly unbothered. 

Azriel's starlit gaze, the sort that could pierce through even the darkest of skies, shifted from Mike to the young woman who stood frozen in place. She held the psych evaluation in her hands, her fingers twitching as if unsure what to do next. Azriel took a moment to study her, noting the soft golden waves of her shoulder-length hair, the bright, almost luminous green of her eyes, and the delicate curve of her face. He found her quite striking—if only a touch too short for his liking, standing at just 4'11". Still, beauty was beauty, no matter the height.

He chuckled, a sound that was low and rich with amusement as he spoke, his voice smooth as velvet. "Well, well, who do we have here? May I know your name, hot stuff?"

Evelyn visibly flinched at the nickname, her cheeks flaming bright red. She quickly averted her gaze, looking anywhere but directly into Azriel's eyes. She had the distinct feeling that if she kept looking at him, she might just lose herself in that intense stare. Her fingers fidgeted with the edges of the folder, a nervous habit, before she finally spoke, her voice trembling slightly.

"A-a-h I'm Evelyn," she stuttered, "N-nice to m-m-meet you, Mr. Voidus…"

Azriel waved his hand nonchalantly, his smile widening. "Ah, please, call me Azriel. We're about the same age, aren't we?"

Evelyn hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Mike's folder where Azriel's age was written, which stated that he was 14, then back to Azriel himself. She mumbled, almost inaudibly, "N-no, I'm actually 23... I just look this young."

A playful glint sparkled in Azriel's eyes as he leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ah, one of those so-called 'lolis,' huh? Never thought I'd—"

"No! Don't you dare—" Evelyn's voice cracked with panic as she practically stomped her foot, her face and ears now as red as a ripe tomato. She marched up to Azriel, hands clenched at her sides, her indignation palpable.

"I'm NOT a loli!" she shouted, her voice ringing through the room with surprising force.

Mike, who had been watching this unfold with the resignation of someone who had seen this scenario far too many times before, sighed and facepalmed, muttering under his breath, "Not this again…"

Azriel's fingers moved with practiced grace, his sleight of hand taking the psych evaluation from Evelyn's grasp before she even realized it. Evelyn's eyes widened as she felt the folder slip from her fingers, her body stiffening in mortification at the blunder. 

"Well, thank you for handing this over to me," he said smoothly, flicking through the papers with a casual air, as though Evelyn hadn't just yelled in his face.

Evelyn, realizing the blunder she'd just made, immediately turned a shade even darker, if possible. She stood there for a moment, caught between wanting to vanish into the floor and wishing she could rewind time to avoid that outburst. Azriel, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil, continued to examine the evaluation, his voice soft but teasing as he continued, "It's all right, Evelyn. It's just... well, it's just one of those days, I suppose."

She was about to respond when Mike, already exasperated, cut in. "Azriel, seriously, stop tormenting her."

Azriel just raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile curling at his lips as he glanced back at Evelyn. "Tormenting? I'm simply enjoying the company."

Evelyn, still flustered but determined to regain her composure, nodded awkwardly. "I-I'm sorry. It's just... you're really intimidating, okay?" she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Azriel chuckled, his voice a soft, melodic thing. "Intimidating? Oh no, my dear. I'm far more harmless than I look. But it's always a pleasure to meet someone so... spirited."

Mike groaned, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to stave off the impending headache. This was going to be a long day.

Azriel's grin faltered ever so slightly as his eyes scanned the psych evaluation. His expression became one of mock disbelief as he looked up at Mike, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

"Really? Borderline Personality Disorder?" Azriel raised an eyebrow, the amusement in his voice barely concealed. "Well, that's a little off the mark. It's just me, Mike, not some diagnosis." He glanced back down at the paper, his eyes skimming the next line. "Frequent mood swings? Why was I never told about this little quirk?" He shook his head, chuckling lightly. "I'm always so calm, it's almost boring. You should definitely get this fact-checked."

His eyes darted to the next section. "Intense emotions? Huh, me? You must be confusing me with someone else. Maybe a little more than most, but this? Not even close," he muttered, waving the paper dismissively.

Azriel's gaze narrowed as he read the final lines. "Impulsive behavior? Please, Mike, I'm a model citizen," he said with exaggerated innocence, tapping the paper with a finger. "And chronic feelings of emptiness or boredom? Come on, that's just plain a lie. You know it, I know it."

Mike, who had been watching Azriel with the weariness of someone who'd had this conversation too many times before, stared at him as if he'd just grown horns. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, and after a long, drawn-out sigh, he finally gave in.

"Whatever you say, Azriel," Mike said, his voice a mixture of frustration and resignation. "But we both know it's true, and we're not going to force you into therapy again. We've been down that road."

He then turned his gaze toward Evelyn, who was still standing awkwardly in the corner, eyes wide. "Mind taking the evaluation back, Evelyn? Since you so gracefully lost it?" he asked, his tone dry, with just a hint of sarcasm.

Evelyn, still flustered from earlier, blinked as if snapped out of a trance. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, but she nodded quickly and stepped forward to retrieve the evaluation from Azriel's hand, muttering a soft, "S-sorry..."

As Evelyn took the psych evaluation back, Mike's phone rang, slicing through the tense atmosphere. He groaned under his breath, but quickly answered, glancing at the screen.

"Ah damn, need to take this. Not a lot of people have my personal number," Mike muttered. He looked at Azriel, his expression hardening just slightly. "Don't move, alright?" His gaze shifted to Evelyn, who was standing a little too still in the corner. "Keep an eye on him, alright?"

Evelyn stiffened, her nerves returning full force. She opened her mouth to respond but her voice barely broke past a whisper. "Please don't leave me with this trickster…"

Azriel turned to her with mock offense, eyes wide and hand clutching his chest as if struck by a dagger. "How could you do this to me, Evelyn?" he said dramatically, shaking his head multiple times. "After all we've been through—"

He paused, glancing down at the colourful cube on the table and with a flourish, slid it toward her with exaggerated care, as though offering a peace offering.

The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, sending a chill through the air. Evelyn shivered involuntarily; her breath visible for a split second before it dissipated. The shadows that clung to the walls seemed to twitch, restless and alive, as though reacting to some unseen force. Just as she was about to comment on the sudden change, the door flew open with a sharp snap.

Mike stepped into the room, his face colder than the sudden draft, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed by stress. He moved with a purpose, stopping a few inches away from Azriel before speaking in a tone that, despite its harshness, held an underlying warmth.

"Azriel…" he said, his voice almost breaking the air. "Your grandfather… he died a few minutes ago. He was... killed. Investigators are still on the scene. We'll know who or which organization did this in a few hours."

The words landed like a physical blow. Azriel's once energetic grin instantly faded, his body seizing up as though the air itself had turned heavy. His breathing hitched, and though his face remained hidden behind his dark-tinted sunglasses, Evelyn could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The warmth and charisma that Azriel exuded just moments ago evaporated, replaced by an eerie stillness. The shadows, which had always seemed to obey his will, began to grow restless. They coiled and swirled, as though in reaction to his rising turmoil. It was as if they, too, felt the weight of his grief, darkening the room even further. His bright blue eyes—usually so full of life, like stars in a vast galaxy—became hollow, their color shifting, darkening to a shade that mirrored the depths of a storm.

As his body trembled with barely contained emotion, his hand instinctively moved to his right thumb, and with a swift, almost practiced motion, he pressed it against his index finger.

CRACK

The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed through the room, sharp and jarring against the stillness. Evelyn flinched, her heart skipping a beat at the sound. Mike's body went rigid, his eyes narrowing. He knew that sound all too well.

The evaluation report had mentioned it. Whenever Azriel's emotions got too intense, he broke his right index finger to shut them down— his grandfather had called it his "safe lock," a grim coping mechanism born from an unspeakable tragedy.

It all traced back to the day his parents left, a day sealed with a peculiar sort of pinky promise. But instead of linking their smallest fingers, they used their right index fingers—a gesture as intimate as it was unique. It was their quiet covenant, a symbol of unwavering trust and protection, a vow that no matter how chaotic life became, they would always return to him.

Yet, that promise was a lie. It never came true. The absence they left in their wake hollowed him out, leaving broken promises to echo in his mind like a haunting refrain. That sacred ritual—the intertwining of their fingers in that unique, unspoken vow—was shattered the day they were taken from him. In a single moment of loss, his world collapsed, and the gesture that once symbolized love and trust became something else entirely. 

In the years that followed, Azriel twisted the memory into a lifeline of control. Pressing his thumb against his index finger, he found a grim substitute for comfort—a physical act that severed the unbearable flood of emotions before they could consume him. What had once been a sign of connection now became his shield, a brutal mechanism to silence the chaos within. It was his way of telling himself, No, you will not break. You will not show weakness. 

Whenever grief or rage bubbled to the surface, he instinctively performed the gesture, even though the promise it once represented was long broken. A habit born of survival, it became his "safe lock," his means of locking away everything he couldn't bear to face. 

And now, as the news of his grandfather's death sank in, that impulse returned, sharp and unrelenting. His body trembled, his heart pounded, and shadows around him seemed to quiver, reflecting the force of his inner turmoil. The grief was a storm, threatening to unravel him entirely. But with a swift, practiced motion, Azriel pressed his thumb to his index finger. 

CRACK

The sharp sound of bone breaking echoed in the stillness. Pain blossomed, raw and grounding, as if to remind him that he could still feel—just not too much. And with that familiar ache, he sealed everything inside once more.

Azriel's trembling ceased immediately. His body went still, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The shadows that had swarmed and writhed around him seemed to calm as well, retreating like a storm that had finally passed. His eyes, now darker and void of the light that had once animated them, returned to their usual glassy indifference. The room's coldness lingered for just a moment longer before it, too, began to fade, replaced by the sterile calm that Azriel now exuded.

He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and without so much as a glance at Evelyn, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion as he addressed Mike.

"I see," Azriel murmured softly, his face an unreadable blank slate. "I'll be on my way now." He paused for a moment, before adding in a tone that held no warmth, no malice, just a strange, hollow politeness. "It was nice seeing you, Mike. And you, Evelyn."

And with that, he turned toward the door, each step a little more distant, a little more final. The shadows seemed to follow him, like silent sentinels, but even they now held a strange stillness, as though they too were waiting for the moment he would choose to let them move again.

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A/N:

This is my first time writing a novel, and I had a lot of fun doing it. If you have any suggestions or notice any grammatical errors, please feel free to let me know!