We knocked back another shot.
I got up to make coffee.
Bad idea to mix—but my vision was already starting to blur.
"I didn't want anyone here to find out about my past," Alma said quietly.
I paused for a second—
then kept messing with the machine.
Let her talk.
"I'm sorry," I said after a moment, sitting down beside her. "This is because of me."
She shook her head.
"No. It isn't."
She poured herself another drink.
"The rumors started because of me being around you," I said. "If you'd just agreed—"
"Then how would I be any different?" she cut in sharply. "No, Alan. This isn't on you. And… what they said—about who I was—it's true."
She drank.
Didn't look at me.
"My mother died when I was ten. Cancer. My father… didn't handle it well. Lost his job. Burned through everything. Started gambling."
A pause.
Another drink.
"It started with one of his friends. I was thirteen."
She swallowed.
"My father… brought him into my room. Then left."
My chest tightened.
"That was the first time. After that… more came. A few times a month. Then every week. Then…" She shook her head and drank again.
I reached for her hand.
Held it.
Didn't know what else to do.
"That's how he paid his debts," she went on. "Three years. Then I ran."
A bitter smile.
"And then what? I didn't know how to do anything. Needed money to survive. So I sold myself. First for food. Then for a room. I tried to find work—but who hires a sixteen-year-old?"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
She cut me off.
Took a breath.
"A woman took me in. I stayed with her for a month. Helped around the house. I thought… that was it. That I was free."
A hollow laugh.
"She ran a brothel."
Of course she did.
"She didn't force me. Not exactly. Just made it clear I wasn't good for anything else. So I stayed."
A small shrug.
"At least it was… better. Cleaner."
Another drink.
"I saved money. Planned to leave. She even suggested where to go."
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"Then she sent people after me."
My grip tightened too.
"They beat me. Raped me. Left me there. Bleeding." Her voice dropped. "Said it would happen every time if I tried to leave again."
Silence.
"…That's when the recruiter found you?" I asked quietly.
She nodded.
"I was on a roof. He stopped me."
A faint smile.
"You know what's funny? I used to see things. Thought I was losing my mind. Turns out—entities. Spirits. Once even a monster."
She let out a breath.
"I ignored it. Pretended it wasn't real."
"In the end, it saved you."
"…Yeah."
She stared at her cup.
"That's it. That's my story. I could've asked for help. At school. Gone to the police."
She laughed again.
"But I was scared. Of people finding out. Of what had been done to me."
A pause.
"So I kept doing the one thing I hated most."
Her voice dropped.
"I'm pathetic."
"No," I said firmly. "You're not. You were a kid. You survived. That's it. The only one to blame is your father."
She looked at me.
Carefully.
"And you're not disgusted? Sitting here with me, knowing all that?"
"No."
"And if I told you I thought about using it here too?"
I shrugged.
"You didn't know another way."
She laughed—
and suddenly wrapped her arms around my neck.
"You're… something else," she murmured. "I'm glad you're like this."
"I don't think the others will judge you either," I said quietly.
She pulled back.
Close.
Too close.
Her eyes dropped to my lips.
"I don't care about the others," she said softly. "Only about you. There's something about you…"
Her gaze lifted.
Met mine.
Then she leaned in.
I tensed.
Didn't feel anything.
Not like that.
But I didn't pull away.
Maybe—
maybe something would change.
Her lips brushed mine.
Warm.
Soft.
Whiskey.
Sweet perfume.
I closed my eyes.
Let it happen.
"…Holivan."
Cold.
Sharp.
Wrong place.
Wrong moment.
I flinched—
lost my balance—
and slid off the couch.
Alma collapsed forward without me—
face-first into the cushions.
"What the hell—" she mumbled, turning her head. "Silius? What are you doing here?"
"I see you're enjoying yourselves," he said, not taking his eyes off me.
I pushed myself up—
the room tilted—
badly.
Clyde caught my arm before I hit the floor again.
"Seriously… what are you doing here?" I asked, words slightly slurred.
"Where's your phone?" he said. "I called you ten times."
"I think… left it in my room," I muttered, pressing a hand to my forehead.
"It's New Year's," Alma snapped. "I get that Alan runs errands for you, but have some decency—let him rest."
"Go to sleep," Clyde said flatly. "I need you tomorrow."
"But it's my day off…" I mumbled.
"That applies to last week's."
…Right.
I shut up.
"Where's your room?" he asked, already pulling me toward the door.
"That's not fair!" Alma protested behind us.
We stepped into the hallway—
straight into the noise.
The moment people saw Clyde—
silence.
Instant.
Everyone turned.
At me.
I dropped my gaze.
"You're not sleeping here," Clyde said.
"Ooooh, baby Alan got drunk and I missed it?" Robert laughed. "Alma, how could you not call me? And what's he doing here?"
"He came to send Alan to bed," Alma said, annoyed. "Apparently they have urgent business during New Year's."
"He can sleep in my room," Nick said, getting up. "Only one guy stays there—and he's probably here anyway."
"Volkin?" Clyde frowned slightly. "You're still here?"
"Not going home this year," Nick said, glancing at me. "Alright, guys—we're heading out."
He moved toward the door.
"Don't do anything stupid," Clyde said coldly, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Nick met his gaze.
"I would never do anything to Alan," he said just as coldly. "At least not without his consent."
And with that—
he pulled me along.
Upstairs.