"No lie is more effective than a twisted truth. Let the questions linger longer than the answers. Let them reach their own conclusions that the ground they stand on is not as solid as they once believed. Doubt is the root; from it, all corruption will grow."

-Excerpt from The Infernal Guidebook: The Art of Unraveling a Soul

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"Feeling better?" Azrael teases. His breath in the cool air clouds in front of him. "Or is it still too hot out here too?"

"This is much better," I say, taking a breath.

He smiles, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he murmurs, "It is."

For a few steps, there's a comfortable silence before he glances over again. "You know," he starts, "I wasn't sure how tonight would go, but I'm glad it went the way it did."

"How did you expect it to go?"

He takes a moment before answering, "Honestly? I figured I'd be spending more of the night trying to crack through all your walls, pushing buttons, teasing, seeing how far I could go before you pushed me away," he smiles softly, "but then... you didn't push me away. You let me in a little more than I expected. And, I guess I didn't expect you to see through as many of my walls either."

He pauses again, looking ahead at the empty street. "I mean, yeah," he adds with a chuckle, "I thought we'd have fun, maybe flirt too much, drink too much, and leave it at that. But this..." He gestures between us with a small shrug, "feels different." His pace slows a little as he says it, almost like he's testing the waters with that admission, watching my reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, well knowing how I get when I'm drunk I definitely expected... most of this, for you to get through my walls at least. Maybe that's why I like drinking sometimes. It's easier to let people in without overthinking everything."

"I don't think it was just the drinks tonight," he says hesitantly, "I think even without them you still would've let me in. Maybe not as fast, but seeing your confidence when you walked through that door, I feel like I would've gotten there. For what it's worth though, I'm glad you did."

"Me too," I smile.

His shoulders relax, and he reaches for my hand, gently lacing his fingers with mine.

We pass by a closed park and Azrael pauses, glancing at the iron gate before turning with a mischievous grin. "We could cut through here," he suggests, eyes gleaming. "No one's around. Plus, it might be quieter. Fewer distractions. Unless," he adds, smirking, "you're not much of a rule-breaker?"

"Huh," I think, looking between him and the park. I'm definitely not a rule breaker, but I suppose one thing I regret growing up was not being daring enough, and I don't really want to ruin the moment... "As long as I don't end up in jail..." I trail off.

"Jail?" he repeats, "Nah, I'd never let that happen." He flashes a teasing grin, "Besides, if we did get caught, I'm pretty sure I could talk us out of it."

With that, he tugs my hand gently toward the park's gate. It creaks slightly as the lock clicks open and then he opens it just enough for the two of us to slip through. The park beyond is dimly lit, and the paths wind under towering trees with branches swaying softly in the breeze. "See? Not so bad breaking a rule or two. Do you ever let go and see where the night takes you like this?"

"Not really," I shake my head, "but it sounds like you're used to it?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," he admits. "I've always been the guy who dives headfirst into moments like this. No plans, no thinking ahead, just letting things happen." He pauses, his gaze searching mine, "But most of the time it's easy to get caught up in the moment without really appreciating it. This though? This feels different. I'm glad you decided to let go for tonight, even if it's not something you usually do."

"How does it feel different?" I ask.

He lets out a slow breath and looks down briefly. "Because I'm not just chasing the moment this time," he admits, tightening his fingers around mine slightly, "With you, it feels like..." he trails off for a second, "like I want to slow down. To actually feel all of this instead of just playing the part." A soft, almost self-deprecating chuckle escapes him before he adds, "Which is rare for me. Usually I'm good at keeping things surface-level fun."

"The first time we met you said you wanted someone to see past the 'carefully curated answers,' past the performance," I remember.

"Yeah," his eyes lock onto mine. "Most of the time I'm performing. Saying what people want to hear, and acting the way they expect. It's easier that way," he continues, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "It keeps things simple, and keeps me protected. But tonight? With you?" He smiles, "You kept that in mind and saw through the act. Now I don't feel like I have to perform. It's new territory for me, but... freeing, in a weird way."

"You say performing keeps things simple, but it sounds exhausting."

He lets out a soft, almost surprised chuckle at that, letting his shoulders relax. "Yeah," he admits, "It is. When you're performing, you're in control. You set the stage, decide what people see, and what they don't. It keeps things neat. But yeah, after a while, it gets tiring because no one really sees you. They just see what you want them to," he pauses, "And then you end up wondering if anyone would actually like you without all the layers, without the performance."

"So before you first came up to me you were expecting to have to perform, business as usual?"

"Yeah, I saw you sitting there, writing, lost in your own world, and I figured it'd be the usual routine, charm my way in, say the right things, maybe get you to let your guard down for a bit, then move on." He smiles more genuinely now. "You didn't fall for the usual lines though. That threw me."

"What's your typical end goal then? At what point do you consider the mission accomplished?" I ask, but can kind of predict the answer.

He hesitates. "The end goal? It's usually when I feel like I've... won." He sighs, running his free hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with his own answer. "When I've gotten someone to drop every wall, to let me in completely, to trust me more than they probably should. That moment when they're all in and vulnerable. That's when I'd usually call it. And then?" He shrugs, "I'd walk away. But tonight?" he shakes his head, and lets out a breathy laugh, though there's no humor in it, "I don't want to walk away."

I sit with that for a moment, "At what point did your feelings change?"

"Tonight when you read my playbook right back to my face. I wasn't expecting you to have seen past it so completely. I realized then that this wasn't just about breaking down your walls. It was about you letting me in because you wanted to, not because I manipulated my way there," his gaze holds mine unwavering, "and that scared the hell out of me because it meant I wasn't just playing anymore. I felt it, really felt it, and I can't turn that off."

"Manipulate..." I repeat the admission, "That's a strong word to use."

"Yeah," he murmurs, "but it's the right one. I've always known how to read people, how to nudge them, how to turn their own thoughts against them without them even realizing it. It's not just something I do, it's all I know. It works every time. No one even questions it." His jaw clenches for a second before he exhales again. "But you did, and I felt it every time." His gaze searches my face. "And that's the problem, isn't it? If you can see through me, if you can make me second-guess myself, then what am I doing?" He runs a hand through his hair again. "I don't know how to do this any other way. I've never had to." He confesses, shaking his head with another short laugh.

"What if I stopped letting you in?" I ask, "Would you start trying to dig again? Though I suppose if so, you wouldn't admit it."

He laughs softly, but there's a sense of something heavier beneath the sound, like he's thought about that exact scenario. His eyes are trying to read between the lines of my questions as always. "You're right. I probably wouldn't admit it... but I'd want to dig, because that's what I'm used to. I'd want to find the cracks again, push harder, and then take my methods to the next level until I get what I want. But with you? I think I'd have to fight that instinct." His eyes soften. "I don't want to push you past where you're willing to go with this, even if it would kill me not to, because for once it's not about 'winning'. It's about not losing you."

My eyes widen slightly.

"Yeah," he whispers, "I wasn't expecting to say that either. I'm used to having all the control, but right now? You're the one who has it. I'm still not sure if I like that or if it terrifies me." His grin returns, though there's no hiding the vulnerability behind his words.

"Well I suppose I don't mind letting you in a little longer," I tease.

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly at that. "If you keep letting me in like this, I might never want to leave." I grin at the promise behind his tone before he continues, "So where do we go now?" he asks, but I can sense the double meaning in his words. He's not necessarily talking about the park or the city, but about where what's between us is heading.

"Wherever you want to go. I like exploring," I tease, throwing it back at him.

His grin widens as he tilts his head, studying me for a moment, "Exploring, huh? Alright, Let's explore then. But you know I'm not just talking about the city."

I nod, smiling.

"Good," he says, tugging me deeper into the park, letting a comfortable silence take over. After a few minutes though, he turns to me again. "If we weren't here, if you could be anywhere in the world right now doing anything, where would you want to be?"

"Anywhere in the world?" I question, seeing the curiosity in his eyes trying to dig into the corners of my mind he hasn't reached yet. I take a moment to think of all the possibilities, but there are too many. "I think I'd be exploring Dracula's Castle in Romania."

"Dracula's Castle?" he muses, "I can see it. It's one glimpse of the storybook fantasy world that's actually real," he shakes his head, "So when are we going? I'll even bring the garlic... unless you're hoping we run into something that bites?"

"Ha. I need to have my own 'Interview with a Vampire'. I love the supernatural. There'd be no point in going all that way just to throw garlic around," I grin.

His eyes light up at that. "No garlic, huh?" he steps in slightly in front of me, closing the small space between us. As our steps halt, his free hand brushes gently against my arm. "You'd go all that way hoping to meet the monster... not run from it? You'd let the vampire get close, knowing what it's capable of?"

I don't falter, tilting my head slightly as I meet his gaze head-on. I've already thought this through. "Depends on the vampire. I wouldn't walk into it blind," I smirk, "I'd keep my trigger finger on my garlic pepper spray. It exists, by the way. It's marketed for bugs, but I'm sure it works just fine for bloodsuckers too," I shrug, "Cullen-family-from-Twilight-types who can control themselves? Group hug. The ones that go straight for the kill? They won't get the chance."

"And what if the vampire's really good at pretending to be one of the safe ones? What if he acts like a Cullen, but deep down, he's not?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Then I'll make sure he never knows when I'm about to pull the trigger."

He bursts into genuine laughter, "You'd let the vampire in, but only on your terms." His voice lowers further, "Staying in control, even when the danger looks appealing."

"You sound like you know about danger," I tease, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised seeing as you break into parks."

A shadow passes just briefly across his face before the playful edge returns. "I guess you could say I have a thing for danger, especially the kind that doesn't look dangerous at first glance. Really though, breaking into parks is just minor mischief. You haven't seen me in real trouble yet," he jokes.

I smile, but now there's definitely something more layered beneath his words, like he's revealing a piece of himself through the teasing, testing the waters to see if I'll let it go, or push for more.

"Have you ever been arrested?" I ask casually.

"Arrested? No." He grins, but the playful edge in his voice still carries that darker undertone giving away that's more he's not saying.

"So what kind of real trouble then?"

"The kind I'll never be able to walk away from," he says lightly, almost amused, but there's no real humor in it. "The unforgivable kind where once you've crossed a certain line, there's no going back." The way he says it sends a chill down my spine. He lets the silence stretch a bit before adding, "Some things don't get handled with handcuffs."

My stomach twists.

"For some things there are no deals, no trials, no redemption, just the knowledge that you've done something that can never be undone." My pulse kicks up, but I force myself to keep steady. Just as effortlessly, his playfulness returns as if the moment never happened. "But no, never arrested."

What is he being so vague for?

"Are you afraid that I'll turn you in if you directly admit what you've done?" I ask.

"No," he says carefully, studying my expression a little more closely now, "I'm afraid you'll walk away."

I choose my next words carefully in order to get an idea if he won't directly say it. "I can't imagine what crime there is that would make someone more worried about being walked away from than being caught and punished." I say.

Azrael's jaw tightens slightly at that and he's quiet for a moment, though when he finally speaks, his voice is steady. "Getting caught?" he exhales softly, "That already happened. Not by the police. The worst part isn't the consequence; that comes eventually, no matter what. It's being left with nothing in the meantime. It's knowing that even if you wanted to change in the time you have left, no one is going to let you move on." His lips press together, "So no, I'm not afraid of punishment. I'm afraid of losing what little I have left while I'm still here."

The rawness of his words is there, but he never denied the word crime.

"Then if you were caught by the police, how long would your sentence be?" I ask, trying to figure out the severity of whatever the hell kind of gang activity he's talking about.

"Life, I suppose. A long life sentence," he says pointedly.

"You're very vague," I mention. My mind is reeling and I'm trying not to let the nerves I feel coat my tone. Whatever he's capable of, at the very least I do have pepper spray in my bag, but now I'm questioning what kind of situation I've naively walked into and how much danger I might actually be in right now.

"Yeah, I guess I am," he says apologetically. "I get it. You don't really know me yet and I'm standing here hinting at all these things, expecting you to just trust that I'm not dangerous. But I'd like to think you can sense that I'm not, even with all the warning signs." His eyes search mine like he's trying to read through every micro expression on my face. "You've been trying to play it cool, but I can see the gears turning in your head."

I shrug, taking time to 'admire' the surroundings while I figure out what exactly I should do.

But Azrael's eyes sharpen further, and there's a subtle shift in his demeanor that makes my throat close up. He doesn't say anything right away, giving me a moment to map exactly where I am in our surroundings. It's like the shadows that comforted me at the beginning of the evening are stretching unnervingly longer in the soft glow of the streetlights.

"You're thinking of running," he says quietly. "I get it. I've been vague, and I've probably said way more than I should have tonight. I don't want you to be afraid." He takes a slow step back, "I would never hurt you."

He looks around the park, then back to me. "You're safe, Nadia. I swear." He hesitates, then adds with an almost pained smile, "But if you want to leave, I won't stop you."

"I'm ready to go home," I say softly, not meeting his eyes.

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. The air between us feels like it's at its breaking point. I can still sense his gaze on me, studying my expression. But then, in a voice softer than I've heard from him all night, he replies, "Alright." There's no teasing, no playfulness, just a quiet acceptance. He takes a careful step back, creating more distance between us. "I'll walk you to the station," he offers gently, though there's a hesitation in his voice. Before I can answer, he adds, "Or... maybe you'd rather go on your own. I didn't mean to push things this far."

"No... I want you to walk with me," I decide. "The subway station is fine." My voice is quieter than I intend, but firm enough to hopefully communicate that I'm not as worried about my safety as I appear. I want to maintain emotional distance. Plus, I'd rather walk back to the station with my eyes on him than worry about him sneaking up on me from behind somehow. I'm not sure if it's the most logical choice, but neither option is exactly desirable at this point.

He nods, taking a slow breath. "Alright. Subway it is."

Without another word, he falls into step beside me, keeping a respectful distance now. His usual playful energy is completely gone. Other than the sound of traffic, the walk is mostly silent. I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of my eye a few times, as if he wants to say something, but he stays quiet.

Finally as the light of the subway station comes into view, he breaks the silence. "I wasn't lying about what I said tonight, about not wanting to hurt you. Or about how this-" he gestures vaguely between the two of us "-felt different. I'm not used to this going wrong," he adds with a soft, almost bitter chuckle. "But I'm glad I met you."

I give him a small smile before walking down the steps. Sure, he keeps talking as though I'm different, and he wouldn't hurt me, but I'm still not sure how exactly he's hurt other people. Not knowing that, coupled with his vagueness and unwillingness to be direct about what he's done just brings the worst ideas into my imagination.

He danced around the truth, and was just as careful with his answers tonight as he's been this whole time, yet he claims to have stopped playing the game? He claimed it was all because he was worried I'd walk away. Well, look where that got him? I'm not about to play into his games by staying.

The train doors slide open and I step inside, feeling the cool metal of the pole in my hand as I brace myself. He really is letting me walk away safely tonight, but the knot in my chest remains. I asked about this exact situation, if I were to walk away. He said if this happened he would want to push harder, and he would want to take his methods to the "next level" until he gets what he wants. If he really is still playing the game, is this what I have to prepare myself for?

I sigh, putting in my AirPods in and trying to relax to my music. I feel the sting of a few tears threatening to escape, but there's nothing I can do about it now.

When I'm able to close my bedroom door and flop into bed, the mask I've been trying to hide my anxiety behind finally shatters. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally break free and bleed into the pillow I've buried my face into. Why am I even crying? Fear? Confusion? A twisted mix of both? Or is it the worst part, the part I don't want to admit-- the way I still wanted to trust him. The way I swear I could sense the sincerity behind his words despite all logic telling me to run?

The thought guts me as I clutch the pillow tighter, trying to drown out the overwhelming storm in my head. No matter how hard I try to push it away, the doubt is still there, whispering beneath the wreckage.

That terrifies me more than anything he actually said.