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Baron looked at his wife, and all over again, his heart broke.

When he married Avynna, after her failed relationship with her ex-husband, he had promised himself to do everything in his power to make sure she never cried. Yet, time and time again, he had watched her cry, and he could do nothing about it.

“Avynna…” he began, rising to his feet.

He barely reached her before she collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. A sharp pain shook his entire being.

“What have we done to deserve this? Why is our daughter the target of the enemy? She was such an innocent little girl, she doesn't deserve any of this. She…”

"Hey…hey…hey…" Baron mumbled. He pulled her closer to himself, rubbing comforting circles across the bare of her back, only that it was anything but comforting.

The pain in her heart was beyond comforting.

“I need you to relax, Avynna. Crying won't change the situation. We need to figure this out."

“Baron, I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to lose my daughter." Avynna cries.

“Shhh! We're not losing anyone.” Baron declared. "We defeated the dark Lord remember? Hence, we can defeat everything that comes from the darkness. We'll save our daughter, just like we did last time. I just need you to calm down and let's figure this out.”

Avynna sniffed, her head spinning. "My poor girl, I wonder how she's doing. She must feel so lonely, and alone. Baron, we need to find her. We need to find our daughter.”

“She's not alone, Avynna. And we will find her. You need to get yourself together, Avynna. We have to be strong, please, you can't break down now.”

Avynna nestled further into his arms, finally leaning into the comfort of her husband. He held on tighter. “It'll be fine. I promise you, it'll be okay, Avynna.”

She nodded, a final tear falling off her eyes.

She held on to his word, everything would be okay eventually.

It had to.

***

The knock came just past midnight.

Loco was half-awake, sitting alone on the edge of his bed, still fully dressed, the night heavy around him. His heart had been restless for days, and sleep no longer came easily. When he heard the soft tap against his door, his body tensed instinctively.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he rose and opened it.

There she stood—Bavanda.

Or what he had convinced himself was Bavanda.

She wore a flowing silk nightdress, silver-white and thin enough that the candle she held illuminated the faint curves of her body beneath. Her hair cascaded over one shoulder in a tumble of dark waves. Her lips, full and glistening, curved into a small, shy smile.

“Loco,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “Can I come in?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Against his better judgment, he stepped aside.

The clone entered with a soft rustle of fabric, setting the candle on his bedside table. The room flickered in its golden glow, shadows dancing along the stone walls.

For a few moments, she said nothing. She simply stood there, eyes wide and vulnerable, as if waiting for him to move. When he didn't, she took a step closer.

“I missed you,” she murmured, lifting a hand to his chest. Her palm pressed flat over his heart, fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “I... I thought about you, and I had to come see you.”

Her touch was warm—but wrong. Like fire where there should be comfort, like pressure where there should be peace.

Loco stiffened but said nothing. His body ached for her, for the woman he had loved, but his soul recoiled.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re so distant,” she said, voice breaking. “After everything we’ve been through... after all the promises...” Her fingers slid upward, tracing the side of his neck, making him shiver—not with pleasure, but with unease.

She stood on tiptoes, leaning in, her breath warm against his lips. Her scent—it was close to Bavanda’s. Sweet and wild, but underneath it lurked something metallic and bitter.

Her lips brushed his.

Loco jerked back. “Wait,” he rasped.

The clone froze, eyes widening, the soft pink of her mouth parting in confusion. For a moment, a crack appeared—a flicker of something cold and sharp beneath the mask of heartbreak.

Then she pulled it back together, tears springing into her eyes. “You don't want me?” she whispered, voice trembling.

Guilt hit Loco like a blow. His fists clenched at his sides. Damn, he hated himself. He hated the doubt gnawing at him.

“I—” He faltered. “It’s not that. I just... I’m tired. I need to rest.”

He couldn't meet her eyes.

The clone took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself, trembling just slightly.

"I thought," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "I thought you loved me enough to see past everything. Past the pain, and the mistakes. I guess I was wrong."

Every word was perfectly calculated—a dagger of guilt twisted expertly into his ribs.

Loco looked up—and for a heartbeat, he almost believed her.

Almost.

But something in her gaze—a flash of triumph quickly masked by sorrow—froze him again.

"I’m sorry," he muttered hoarsely, backing toward the door. "I just… I can't…"

He left without waiting for her to respond.

As he stumbled out into the cool night air, his heart raced, his mind a battlefield of doubt and longing. Behind him, he heard the faint creak of the door closing.

And a whisper, barely audible. "Mine."

He shuddered.

Inside the room, the clone extinguished the candle with a pinch of her fingers. Darkness swallowed her.

Her mouth twisted into a smile that bore no resemblance to Bavanda’s.

“He will break," she said softly to herself. "One way or another."

The forest swallowed Loco whole.

Loco shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket as he wandered down the narrow, half-forgotten path, guided only by slivers of moonlight bleeding through the thick canopy above. His boots crushed dry leaves beneath him, the faint sounds lost in the vastness of the night.

The cold bit into him, but he barely felt it.

His mind was a storm. Flashes of her—that woman who looked like Bavanda—haunted every step.

The way her fingers had trembled against his skin. The way her breath had warmed his lips. The way her eyes had brimmed with tears—perfect, crystalline tears.

It had all been right. Too right it felt manufactured. He couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She knew how to play him too well. Knew which memories to touch, which vulnerabilities to twist. And he—he, the fool—was still tethered to the real Bavanda by a thread so thin, so fragile, it could snap at any moment.

"I thought you loved me enough to see past everything..."

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, forcing the words out of his mind. But they stuck like thorns.

The trees thinned around him, opening into a small clearing where the moonlight pooled like water. He collapsed onto a fallen log at the center, his breathing uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears.

"Am I going crazy?" he muttered aloud to the shadows.

The wind answered only with a mournful sigh through the trees.

Was it dark magic? Was it just his own weakness? He couldn't tell anymore. He didn't know where the truth ended and the lies began. And that terrified him more than anything.

Loco buried his face in his hands.

He could still feel her fingertips ghosting along his neck, burning him with a touch that was supposed to comfort, not consume.

He needed to think clearly. He needed time, but time, it seemed, was running out.

A sudden movement in the woods made him tense. He rose silently, every muscle coiling tight. His instincts screamed—but when he scanned the shadows, there was nothing.

Only a single black feather drifting down through the silver light, landing at his feet.

It was a crow's feather. A bad omen.

He picked it up slowly, turning it between his fingers, heart pounding.

Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: You are being hunted.

He pocketed the feather and made his way back to the village, every step heavier than the last.

Tomorrow would come too soon. And with it, more darkness.

And it did!