The music in the underground club shifted—slower now. Darker. A dirge in disguise.
Julian's hand still hovered between them, waiting.
Carmen stared at it, heart hammering behind her ribs like a warning drum. Touching him could mean memory. Could mean trigger. Could mean she'd vanish into the spiral of time and wake up again in the future—or not at all.
But her fingers moved on their own.
When they touched his, it was like electricity fed through bone.
He flinched.
Just slightly.
But she saw it.
She felt it.
He remembered her.
Or he was damn good at pretending.
Either way, the game had begun.
The dance floor wasn't a floor at all—it was a circle of mirrors, dimly lit by candlelight. Smoke curled above them like the ghost of fire. Around the circle, masked men and painted women watched, silent and still. Voyeurs in velvet.
Julian led her into the circle. One step. Then another. Carmen matched him, fluid as venom.
He didn't speak at first. Just moved. The pressure of his hand on her back was firm, possessive, but cautious. Testing.
He turned her.
Their reflections fractured in the mirrors. A thousand versions of themselves spun and split.
"Do you often follow men into their shadows?" he asked finally.
She tilted her head. "Only when I recognize the shape of the monster."
That smile again—tight, precise. Like a scalpel cut across the face.
"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else."
"No," she said, pressing her body closer, her breath brushing his throat. "I will never forget the scar. Especially not one I gave myself."
That stopped him. Just for a second. His step faltered—but not his mask.
Then he chuckled.
"Do you believe in past lives?"
"I believe we rot the same way in all of them."
"You're very beautiful when you lie."
"I'm always lying."
That pleased him.
The music grew darker, a waltz from hell, and they danced faster.
The world around them blurred.
Time collapsed between footfalls. Carmen saw flashes: a bathtub full of blood. A staircase painted in viscera. A bedroom where roses grew from corpses.
Julian leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. "Tell me your name."
"No."
"You're afraid I'll remember it."
"I'm afraid you'll forget again."
Another step.
Another turn.
She wanted to kill him. Right here. Right now. Drive her blade through his ribs and twist until the past collapses in on itself.
But she also wanted to kiss him so violently that history rewrote itself in their blood.
He dipped her low, her hair brushing the mirrored floor.
From this angle, she saw the spiral tattoo on his inner wrist.
The spiral and the flame.
She reached out—fingers brushing it.
"You've used this symbol before," she said.
"Have I?" he said, gaze steady.
"Yes. You carved it into a girl last week."
He raised a brow. "I must've been feeling sentimental."
"You don't feel anything."
He smirked. "That's where you're wrong. I feel curious."
Carmen rose, her lips near his ear. "Good. Curiosity gets people killed."
"And lust?"
She kissed his cheek. Not tender. A mark.
"Lust is what I use to kill them."
The song ended.
Applause scattered like broken bones around them.
He stepped back, slowly.
"You're not like the others," he said.
"I'm not even like myself," she whispered.
He took her hand again, kissed the back of it.
Then said something that froze her spine:
"We'll meet again. Soon. Somewhere between the scream and the silence."
And he walked away.
Leaving her alone in the circle of mirrors.
Watching her own reflection smile back—
But it wasn't her smile.
It was his.