Marisol barely registered what was happening. One moment, she was on solid ground, and the next, Mephisto had thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, leaping effortlessly across the rooftops. The world blurred past her—lights flickered in the distance, the distant hum of sirens grew sharper, and the cool night air bit against her skin.
Her breath hitched. Each bound across the rooftops sent her stomach twisting, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once.
Her mother was dead.
Ryan and Emma were dead.
She was running away with the people who did it.
The pressure in her chest built like a tightening vise. Her vision blurred, her fingers curling into her palms as her pulse pounded in her ears.
I can't breathe—
Mephisto landed on a ledge, adjusting her in his grip as if she weighed nothing.
"Breathe through it," he said without looking at her. "You'll pass out if you don't."
But she couldn't breathe. The anxiety squeezed around her lungs like unseen hands, her head spinning, her body trembling against his.
And then—something inside her snapped.
A pulse, raw and instinctive, surged through her veins. Without thinking, she lashed out.
A tremor pulsed through the rooftop, like a living heartbeat. Then—roots, jagged and gnarled, erupted from the cracks, twisting in wild, frantic arcs. One struck toward Mephisto's throat. Another lashed at his wrist, thorned tendrils glinting like fangs. The rooftop groaned beneath their force, fragments of concrete breaking loose in dusted chunks.
Mephisto barely reacted—just flicked a wrist, batting them aside like unruly weeds. But the sheer force of it—the surprise—was enough to loosen his grip.
(And then she was falling.)
Her scream cut through the night as the ground rushed toward her.
Marisol felt the wind tear past her, her stomach plunging as the street below rushed up to meet her. Then—the shadows caught her. Not hands, not arms—just darkness, wrapping around her in tendrils of soft silk and iron grip. The rooftop blurred away, the world spinning for a second before Eri's face came into focus.
"Let me go!" Marisol struggled, but the shadows tightened around her, pinning her in place. "I don't want this! You—you're a murderer!"
Eri sighed, adjusting her grip so Marisol was forced to look at her. Her crimson eyes burned, but her expression was almost… patient.
"Appreciate what I've done for you," Eri said, her tone soft but unyielding. "You're free now."
Marisol's stomach twisted violently. "I never wanted this!"
She shoved at Eri's shoulders, but the other girl didn't let go. She simply held her tighter.
Mephisto landed gracefully beside them on the pavement, dusting himself off. "She doesn't know what she's talking about." His voice was bored, unimpressed. "If we hadn't shown up, what were you planning on doing?"
Marisol froze.
Her mind raced, her thoughts tangling into knots.
What was I going to do?
She had no answer.
Mephisto's smirk sharpened. "Exactly. You're no better than us, little seed." His crimson eyes glowed as he leaned in. "A monster."
Marisol's breath came in short, panicked gasps. The world around her tilted, the distant hum of traffic below stretching into an indistinct roar. The streets of Whittier's strip malls blurred together, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the quiet neighborhoods.
"A monster?," Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She tried to shake her head, to deny it—but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, her mind reeled, replaying the images she had been too afraid to process.
David's warm smile—gone. Her mother's sharp voice, her impatience—silent. Emma's sneering face, Ryan's laughter—replaced by something red, something final.
"No… no, this isn't real."
She stumbled back a step, her foot slipping on the gritty gravel. The night air pressed down on her, cool and crisp in the way only Southern California nights could be. Her pulse pounded, her vision narrowing as the truth suffocated her.
Eri sighed, the sound almost tender, almost pitying."Why are you fighting this?"
Marisol whipped her head up, eyes wild. "Because I didn't want this!" she screamed, her voice raw. "I—I never wanted this!"
Eri simply smiled. "And yet, here you are."
Marisol shook. Her shoulders trembled as she scanned the parking lot, searching for a way out. A way back.
Could she fix this?
Could she go back?
David would listen. He had to.
Aiden would help. They were cops afterall, they would see the truth.
Wouldn't they?
She turned, staring at the quiet houses stretching endlessly below them, the distant red-and-blue flashes of police lights growing brighter.
"It's too late," Eri whispered.
Marisol shuddered, her breath hitching. No. That wasn't true. It couldn't be.
"You're lying," she croaked.
Mephisto laughed softly, shaking his head. "Oh, little seedling… if you really believed that, you wouldn't be shaking like a leaf in the wind."
Marisol froze.
Her body had betrayed her.
The truth had already rooted itself inside her, deep in the pit of her stomach. She just hadn't wanted to see it.
Her hands clenched. The edges of her vision blurred, shadows pooling at the corners like ink seeping into the cracks of her reality.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
She wasn't a murderer like them.
Or was she?
Her breath trembled as she looked at Mephisto, then Eri.
Eri's crimson eyes gleamed, filled with something close to understanding.
"Come with us," Mephisto said again, quieter this time. "Grow in the sunlight of the real world."
Marisol hesitated.
The wind rustled through the palm trees lining the streets below, carrying the distant wail of sirens.
Her mind whispered—
"They'll never believe you."
"They'll hunt you."
"They'll call you a monster."
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached forward.
Mephisto's hand was warm when she took it.
Mephisto grinned, tugging her forward. "That's more like it."
Eri's smirk was softer. "Now, let's get you somewhere safe."
And with that, the three of them vanished into the night.