chapter 9

The office was, as always, aggressively elegant—dark wood, towering bookshelves, chandeliers that dripped candlelight across leather furniture nobody ever seemed to actually sit in. Elison Floris stood near the window with his phone in hand, unbothered by the grandeur around him, mid-sneeze.

"Achuu~"

"Are you sure you didn't catch a cold?" Azhael asked, not even glancing up from his own drink.

Elison waved a dismissive hand, nodding instead toward the matter at hand. "Did you find anything about him?"

Azhael sighed, long and put-upon. "No. You told us nothing except that he smells nice."

"He really doe—"

The door burst open before Elison could finish defending his single, deeply unhelpful data point.

"ELISON!" The voice cut through the room like a blade, loud enough to rattle the chandelier overhead.

"*Close his ears* STOP SCREAMING," Elison snapped, clamping his hands over Azhael's ears as though that would somehow solve the noise problem at its source.

Mateo Stellar—Heinz's perpetually harried personal assistant—stumbled in behind the commotion, breathless. "Sorry... but your sister got kidnapped."

Elison did not look up from whatever he'd been doing. "Tell me something new."

"Huh?" Mateo blinked, genuinely offended on Quinn's behalf. "You don't care about her? She's your sister. Azhael, tell him."

"He's right," Azhael said simply.

"Loo—" Mateo started.

"I'm talking about Elison," Azhael clarified. "He's right. Tell us something new."

Mateo threw his hands up. "Both brothers are the same. One's busy and doesn't care, the other's just sitting here and doesn't care either. Poor Qui—"

The door slammed open again, this time with considerably more force, and considerably less patience.

"These weak, loser kidnappers, I swear." Quinn Floris strode in like she owned the building—which, in fairness, she partially did—scanning the room with sharp, unimpressed eyes. "What is happening here?"

Mateo rushed toward her immediately. "Are you hurt? *checks her for bruises*—ouch, got hit by a pen."

"Stay away from her," Elison said flatly, not even bothering to look up.

Quinn rolled her eyes at both of them. "Why would I be hurt? They're the ones in the hospital right now. After all—" she dropped onto the sofa with the casual grace of someone who had never once doubted her own competence, "—I'm a Floris." A beat. "Anyway, brother, you asked for me?"

Elison finally set his phone down. "I want you to find someone."

"Try something then. I want to know who it was," he added, and something in his voice—a flicker of urgency he clearly hadn't meant to let slip—caught Quinn's attention immediately.

"Why so eager?" she asked, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Are you in love?"

Elison coughed, sudden and unconvincing.

"Brother," Quinn said, leaning forward, delighted, "you're about to get married."

"Against my will," he reminded her.

"Still. Mom will kill you."

"She's only making me get married because of my brother," Elison said, tone dropping into something more resigned, "and because I've never brought someone home before."

Quinn tilted her head, considering that for a moment—and then, all at once, something clicked behind her eyes. "Like you yourself come home... *whispers*... light purple hair... hm... WAIT—" she shot up from the sofa so fast the cushions nearly toppled.

"WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?" Elison demanded.

"This person might be Shadow," she said, dead serious now.

"Shadow?"

"Well, brother—" Quinn's voice dropped, all traces of teasing gone, "—there's this assassin. He comes randomly, kills very secretly, and vanishes into thin air."

Elison's expression shifted, sharpening. "Any information about him?"

"Many people have tried to investigate him," Quinn said, "but no one's ever succeeded. The only thing anyone actually knows is that he has light purple hair, and he either draws something or leaves behind a flower after killing his target."

Elison was quiet for a moment, processing that. "Both of you," he said finally, turning to Azhael as well, "investigate him deeply. Let me know the moment you find anything about his next target."

Azhael nodded once, wordless.

Quinn studied her brother carefully. "Why? You've never been this interested in anyone before."

Elison's gaze drifted somewhere distant, somewhere just past the edge of the conversation. "Quinn... there's something about him I want to know. He feels very familiar."

"Who?" she pressed.

"Light purple hair," Azhael offered helpfully, "and he smells nice."

Quinn stared at him. "Hmm. And?"

"That's it."

"Hm—HUH? THAT'S IT?"

Azhael nodded, entirely unbothered by how little he'd actually contributed.

"I think he's an assassin too," Elison added, as though that clarified anything at all.

Quinn dragged a hand down her face. "This doesn't help at all, brother..."

Mateo, who had been standing off to the side this entire time, finally cleared his throat. "*sighs* I'll try my best," he said, "but he's very tough to be found... so no promises." He turned to leave.

"Why the fuck are you still here?" Azhael snapped. "Go. Now."

"I'm getting thrown away," Mateo said mournfully.

"Yeah, so get out before I really kick you out."

"Ok, ok, I'm leaving—" Mateo backed toward the door. "Heinz said not to miss him." And with that parting shot, he bolted.

"This bitch," Azhael muttered, shaking his head.

Elison, still lost somewhere in his own thoughts, hadn't moved from his spot by the window. His eyes had gone distant again, unfocused, chasing something just out of reach—a scent, a color, a feeling he couldn't quite name but couldn't shake either.

"Who are you," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone in the room, "and why do I feel the need to know you?"

Neither Quinn nor Azhael answered. There was nothing to say, really—not yet, not when even Elison himself couldn't explain the strange, insistent pull tugging at the edges of his memory, whispering that somewhere beneath the mystery of light purple hair and vanishing shadows, there was something or someone—he had already lost once before, and was now, without even realizing it, quietly trying to find again.

Quinn watched her brother for a long moment, the teasing light in her eyes dimming into something more thoughtful. She'd seen Elison chase plenty of things in his life—power, control, the occasional grudge he refused to let go of, but she had never once seen him chase a person. Not like this. Not with that particular, unguarded stillness in his expression, as if the answer mattered more than he was willing to admit out loud.

"I'll find him," she said quietly, all traces of her earlier sarcasm gone. "Whoever he is."

Elison didn't respond right away. He only nodded, once, still staring out at nothing in particular, as though the city itself might hand him the answer if he waited long enough.

Somewhere out there, a man with light purple hair moved silently through the dark, leaving nothing behind but flowers and unanswered questions—utterly unaware that he had already become the center of the Floris family's undivided, increasingly obsessive attention.