The river in Chengdu, the Huang Cheng River, at least this part wasn't the place people typically ventured. This specific area was hidden away from the tourist districts, a forgotten stretch near forgotten, crumbling buildings that his family own and it wound it way through lesser-known parts of the city. Tonight, the current seemed slower and sluggish with the water carrying a sheen of oil. Cheong Jihai stood at the edge, his dress shoes digging near the soft parts of the soil as he looked down at the body drifting aimlessly in its shallow, murky depths.

It was her.

Micaela Sinclair.

Her skin was dark and still smooth, though pruned and contrast to the water's dull surface. Her braided hair that framed her face was damp and cling to her cheeks. Her eyes--those striking, gray eyes--were the first things he noticed, even in death. They stared up towards the sky lifelessly, wide and open, yet lifeless, nonetheless. Her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle and was a clear sign that death had already claimed her.

It has been several days since he noticed that she was no longer coming to class. She wasn't at the library studying or anywhere he usually noticed her. That when he realized that she may have been killed, and he was right. Her scent leading him right near his apartment as if someone left it there for him. As a demon, he knew better than to think anything that happened to him was just coincident. Someone may have been sending him a message; someone playing around in his territory.

Though, despite the cruel, broken twist of her body he wasn't upset.

A human with those eyes were just wrong.

Those gray irises were too sharp, too penetrating. On a human, she probably doesn't understand the depths she was seeing in people. She may have plenty of times seen what he truly was but simply ignored it as nonsensical. This woman didn't deserve them. And that--along with the fact that she simply didn't necessarily belong here--it piqued her curiosity. With humans, he learned long ago to ignore things like this. Yet, he couldn't look away and her gaze was impossibly intense, more so than when she was alive.

Not human.

He wanted them.

He reached down and shut her eyes gently.

She wasn't of his world, and yet there was something familiar about her. Something that made him pause, even when she was being annoyingly human. He didn't dwell on it. Not yet. There was work to do.

He grabbed her body and pulled her from the water with ease. Her limp form hanging from his grasp like a rag doll. There was no struggle—no resistance. He studied her as he carried her away, noting the signs of her life—her features from her bulbous button nose down to her high cheek bones and plump lips that held a grayish undertone. The thin fabric of her clothes that clung to her wet skin. Her body was soft, but oddly weightless in his grip against her arms.

Her bag caught on a loose pipe, tangled in the weeds beneath the water, and he grabbed it with one hand, effortlessly lifting it free. He studied the bag for a moment before turning it over in his hands. It wasn't anything special. Ordinary. Human. And humanly cheap.

If she were alive, he'll at least get her a better bag. 

Humans and their things, he thought bitterly, but there was still something to find here. The things they carried always told stories—stories they didn't mean to reveal.

In his grip, he carried her and the bag back to one of the abandoned buildings he often found himself spending a lot of time in. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallways. The scent of death was thick in the air, but it didn't disturb him. This was where he worked best—alone, unbothered. The basement was cold, sterile, untouched by the world above. 

He laid her on the surgical table. Her neck was still broken at a sharp angle. He leaned in closer, inspecting her body with a detached curiosity. Her soul—he could feel it—was gone. Faded. Absent.

The he looked towards the bag was heavy and weighted down by something. He opened it with quick, practiced fingers, and inside he found the usual—wallet, phone, a few crumpled receipts—but there was more. Something else. A picture, folded and torn at the edges had caught his attention. He unfolded it carefully, his gaze briefly flicking over the image. Micaela stood there, smiling in the arms of another woman. Her best friend, Wei Lan. The girl was remarkable, in the sense she was beautiful, rich, and very social, she would fit right in with his circle—her features soft, a slight expression of concern on her face as she leaned in close.

On the back, in hastily written ink, was a name. Wei Lan. Micaela Sinclair.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind. Wei Lan. The name nagged at him and pulled at his curiosity. Micaela had been missing for days. Weeks, even. Yet there had been no sign of her friend. No calls, no public outcry, nothing. How strange. He'd expected more from a close friend. Surely, she would've searched for her. A loss like this should've been followed by frantic searching. The lack of movement was… troubling.

He chuckled, "What happened between you too before you died?" he asked Micaela's still body.

But Cheong Jihai didn't linger on that. There was no time. He had what he needed. 

When he looked back at her he caught the hum of something on her. There was a faint trace of energy, because something that didn't belong. He paused as his eyes flicked to the small necklace still tightly fastened around her throat. The delicate chain shimmered in the dim light. It thrummed with a hum that sent a shiver down his spine.

What is this?

The magic was unlike any he'd was involved in before. It wasn't demonic. It was though familiar. It was far beyond what the average human could understand. Cheong Jihai frowned and reached for with his hand with his fingers brushing the cold metal of the necklace. He couldn't ignore it.

Humans always acquire these strange trinkets, as if they have any idea what they're dealing with.

As he pulled at the necklace, there was a faint and barely perceptible resistance, like something inside the chain was pushing back. A ripple of energy buzzed through the air. He paused for a moment as his gaze fixed on the necklace.

It wasn't right. Nothing was ever right with magic, especially with one that was not of his own.

But he ignored the creeping concern that prickled at his senses. The necklace came free with a sharp tug, and he tossed it aside. The light that was in it dimmed. But then… a sound.

A faint, rhythmic thumping.

A sound of blood.

It was soft at first, distant. But as the seconds stretched on, it quickly grew louder. He froze, with his senses sharpening.

There was no one else in the building. He had made sure of that. He was alone.

The sound was coming from her.

His gaze snapped to Micaela's chest. He didn't move for a long moment with his mind racing and piecing things together. This couldn't be. She couldn't be alive. Not after all of that. Not after he finally get a chance to take her eyes. The snap of her neck had been so… final.

There it was. The heartbeat. Faint, yes. But real.

Impossible.

He placed his ear on her chest, the rush of blood too clear to ignore now. Her heart was beating. Not dead. Not fully.

"No…" His voice was barely a whisper as he pulled his hand away from her body, eyes narrowed as he locked onto her. Something was wrong, but his curiosity—his hunger—overpowered any instinct to pull away.

He pressed his fingers to her neck, where the break had once been. It was whole. Unmarked. He blinked, slowly, confusion and curiosity washing over him.

"You're alive?" His voice was barely a rasp as he whispered to her.

Then her eyes fluttered open as she gasped. They locked onto his, unfocused at first, but her gaze was sharp and still piercing. She seemed confused—disoriented—as though waking from a dream. Her lips parted, and she muttered his name in a dazed whisper.

"Cheong Jihai?"

Her voice was soft, but it carried a weight. Her hand pressed against his face, as though she was dreaming as she tossed his face and pulled at his cheeks so casually. "What did I drink to end up seeing you?"

Jihai chuckled, low and amused. The sound wasn't kind as he grabbed her fingers, they were warming up against him. "Perhaps, a love potion?" His voice was firm as he placed his finger against her wrist as he coaxed her into continuing to think she was dreaming so she wouldn't panic.

"Really?" she chuckled as she looked up towards the ceiling. "Then I would expect to see Cheong Bo instead. He's so fine."

"Is that so?" he said, too amused by the surprise of her being alive. "I think I'm more attractive."

She laughed, before she yawned and laid her head back down as she fell asleep. Her body hadn't fully healed her vital organs yet, so she assumed she was conserving energy for that. While he was standing over her, her fingers becoming hot in her palm, a realization struck him. A lingering scent on her skin, at first, he couldn't quite place it as he hummed to himself. 

"Rain? "Lightning?" he muttered to himself. The hairs on his arms and neck stood on end, the electric charge thick in the air. Instinct screamed at him, and he sprang backward, just as a brilliant, searing bolt of lightning tore through the building. The room exploded with blinding light and the deafening crack of thunder.

He shielded his eyes, staggering into the hallway as the walls trembled and smoke curled out from the doorway. The air reeked of ozone and scorched metal. Slowly, he turned back, peering through the haze.

The surgical table was untouched, but the floor around it was charred black. Micaela's body lay exactly as it had before, motionless, her face eerily serene in the chaos. Cheong Jihai's chest heaved with his mind clear as he finally pieced everything together.

So, that's what it was. He smirked, his eyes now focused on the necklace. That necklace he broke off was a seal and the scent he was smelling. His fingers brushed it once more, the energy humming faintly. Witchcraft, huh?