Sashkia was not an ordinary human. She came from a long lineage that practised the tradition of mystics.

Six months ago, when the severely wounded Cassian and France were carried into the city of Valtham, Sashkia had frozen in shock.

Cassian was drenched in his own blood. So did France, who was barely breathing.

The sword that had pierced through Cassian’s heart had not been ordinary. And she had felt it the moment she saw it. It was powerful in a way that did not belong in the present.

When Cassian’s phone vibrated, Sashkia’s ruminative trance broke.

He retrieved the phone from the pocket of his blazer and looked at the screen with a subtle smile playing on his lips. The name flashed on his phone, Lousy Kisser, a moniker he saved after Cixi’s desperate attempt to demonstrate her kissing skills.

Rather than answering, he dragged his thumb across the screen to reject the call. And then he placed the phone face down and took a slow drag of his cigarette before speaking. "The sword used on me was ancient," Cassian stated, exhaling a thick plume of grey smoke. "Spell-bound. A strong spell bound to that metal, pinning me down with an inhuman force, I could not make a stand when I wanted to break the bastard’s neck who was standing right in front of me. Those fucking bastards stabbed me with the sword from behind... Pathetic cowards..."

A dangerous chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. A titillating rage coursed through his veins, not because the assassins had nearly slaughtered him, but because he anticipated the sheer pleasure of capturing them and torturing them until their final, gasping breath.

Before speaking another word, Cassian dragged his dark eyes across the crowded bar, silently observing every customer in the room.

Sashkia curled her manicured fingers around her glass, lifting the rim to take a sip. "No one can hear us. I cast a ward to ensure our privacy," she started in a more placating tone, offering him a reassuring smile.

"Good! You just saved their lives," Cassian commented, returning her smile with a killer grin.

Sashkia threw him a phlegmatic look before continuing, "The bullets my people pulled out of your body weren’t ordinary either. What fascinated me the most was the metal itself. That was carved with an ancient symbol. If I am being exact... they carried one of the symbols only hellish creatures use."

Cassian leaned back in his leather chair. He tapped a long finger against the wooden table, yet the rhythmic movement made zero sound. He stared at Sashkia, but his mind had drifted back already to the bloody terrace, remembering the one who shot him seven times.

"That is very specific, Sashkia," Cassian mused. He tapped his finger once, and then twice, and thrice. "Someone carved Hell symbols onto bullets just to get me..." He chuckled once more. "Who do you think orchestrated this? I keep hunting them; unfortunately, I only hit dead ends."

"Does that explain why you refuse to reveal yourself to the public?" Sashkia asked. "Do you want your enemies to think you died while you hide in Demond City?"

"Yes, that serves as one of the main reasons.

I wanted to focus on hunting these cockroaches down, forcing them out of whatever dark hole they occupy," Cassian declared, projecting an undeniable air of arrogance.

Sashkia caught something in his sentence. "You wanted? Did your plan change already?"

"Something like that." Cassian’s thought wandered to Cixi for a moment.

"Hmm. Well, I tried using my own methods to trace the bullet carver," Sashkia revealed what she had done on her own. "I lost consciousness the second I touched the bullet."

That caught Cassian’s immediate attention. He slanted closer, dropping his arms onto the wooden table.

"In my professional opinion, only one person can elucidate exactly who orchestrated this attack," Sashkia said carefully, knowing the suggestion would leave Cassian annoyed.

"If you mention that Ass," Cassian growled, his jaw tensing. "I advise you to stop right there. I am caught up in this mess because of him... If he hadn’t thought it would be amusing to send me to this place just to see how I would survive—" Cassian muttered a curse under his breath before continuing. "If it weren’t for him, I would be enjoying myself where I truly belong."

Sashkia heaved a deep sigh. "People try to escape that place and come here," she said. "And you..." She looked at him for a moment. "You are unhappy to be here." She shook her head, unable to comprehend his dark workings.

"I would still ask you to talk to The King," Sashkia emphasised. "He will come if you summon him."

"I would kill every person on the planet..." He paused for a brief moment before continuing, "except for one, rather than going to him."

Sashkia once again caught something from his words. And who is that one person? France?

Sashkia shot an immediate glare at Cassian. "You are crossing the line." "And you did the same."

"I was trying to assist you." "I do not need assistance that involves him, just as you avoid your mother." Cassian decided to shift focus to the more pressing matter.

Cassain decided to focus on the important matter.

"I have already hired two different groups to seek answers, but the response I want to find may never be revealed. So, I turned to you for help. But it seems you have grown weaker."

"Look who is talking, someone who has actually bled," Sashkia shot back. Cassian, who was typically untouchable, had now received insults not once, but twice, from two different women regarding his incompetence. He vowed that once he got his hands on the person who orchestrated it, he would publicly proclaim how he eliminated the one who attacked him. Attempting to change the subject, he inquired, "Do you know anything about a strong individual becoming weaker in the presence of someone else?"

Cassian’s question piqued Sashkia’s curiosity.

She leaned back slightly. "I need more details."

He was reluctant to discuss it. Yet, pride hadn’t led him to any answers, and so he had come to the one woman who might provide insight. "There is this person who, whenever she is near me, makes me feel vulnerable." He detested how he sounded. Was getting attacked twice not enough that a girl made him feel human? "I bleed... Somehow, I feel more human when she is around..."