The concrete wall bleeds, STAY AWAY FROM HER. It's fresh. Since the dripping hasn't stopped, the copper smell is potent. I can't stop staring at the wall, I can't stop looking at my father's writing. I can't stop thinking about what my father did to create his message and I don't know how I am supposed to feel about it. But I can tell what my father felt as he wrote his message. Anger and fear. The letters were closely written together, sloppily but with a sense of urgency to show his rage.

It was a warning.

This was what Grimm wanted me to see, this was his surprise but I didn't know what to make out of it. Was I supposed to be sad? Angry? Scared? Or relieved?

"Your father has been doing this for a long time." My stomach tightened.

"I know I shouldn't have done this without your permission but I needed to dig a little deeper. Your father has enough blood to create a river and drown his victims." The warlock who tried to kill me said my father murdered over a hundred witches and warlocks. Grimm continued, "But somehow while he is committing these violent acts, he is taking care of his daughter. During your stay in the psychiatric hospital, he covered the cost. Your apartment, he owns the building. Your schooling, he is paying for it."

What? No. No. No. That couldn't be true. Refugio's and my mother's accounts paid for the psychiatric help and when they passed, their money was transferred to my account. I was able to pay for college with that money and I know they took the money. But the apartment was a gift from Refugio. She left it in her will for me.

My father didn't pay for anything. He—he didn't—he didn't own—He owned the building. My heart gave out, then why hasn't he come home?

Shame and anger rose as a strong gust of wind burned my cheeks. Ever since I found out about my father being alive, the questions I had as a little girl still remain the same. Why are you not here? What did we do? What did I do? Do you not love me? And I hated it because I'm not supposed to be that little girl desperately wishing for her dad to come home.

But that's what my mother left me, her longing for my father to come home. She cursed me to have nothing but a hopeless heart.

I kept staring at the wall as I felt Grimm's looming presence near me. "I'm quite surprised your father hasn't come after me. He is definitely watching you, he must've seen me with you but I wonder why he hasn't shown himself." He then selfishly says. "Does he not see me as a threat?"

My eyes drift away from the blood-dripping wall to Grimm whose face is half cast by a shadow. "Do you want to know what the first lesson an absent father teaches you?" He listens. "To never expect anything from anyone, if you do, you'll be disappointed." And I'm right.

I never expected anything from anyone, I just always assumed the worst out of everyone and Grimm was no different from what I thought about other people. He was the worst, he was always at his worst. There were no disappointments or expectations from Grimm and, I li—

A scream erupted from the floor above us.

I tilted my head back to the ceiling as Grimm said, "That would be our guest." He brushed past me as he moved toward the stairs that led to the next floor. I blinked away all thoughts and feelings regaining my composure to follow Grimm but he was by the end of the stairs with his hand out.

He was waiting for me to take it. I walked to him, stepping into the pale moonlight and—

Another scream came from above and out of instinct, I grabbed Grimm's hand tightly.

"Sounds like Hans is having a little too much fun without us." He said with a hint of amusement.

He turns away, pulling my hand as we walk up the stairs and the heels of our shoes echo in the old vacant abandoned building. We were far away from the noise, close enough to the forest to bury a body. I had no doubt someone was going to die tonight. Still, there was an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of my stomach and it wasn't because someone was going to die, it was something else—like a pressure feeling that wanted to break free.

Once we reached the next floor, my eyes immediately went to the man tied by bronze chains between two crumbling pillars. It didn't look safe, the building was already a second away from collapsing and I would rather not die from a pile of rocks. I looked over to Hans who stood by the man, wearing similar clothing to Grimm except his coat had longer straps with three large black chains and slivered skulls. Hans began to march over to us with his blood-thirsty eyes, his hands curled into fists at his side but he kept his stoic face.

Grimm halted his steps and muttered over his shoulder. "Stay behind me. I don't want the warlock to see you yet." The warlock was the guest, a captive guest, I assumed. I wanted to ask a million questions but I knew I would get my answers soon.

I moved closer to Grimm and stepped into his shadow.

Hans stopped in front of Grimm as he slightly lowered his head. "He is not speaking."

"He'll talk. What happened to your face?" Grimm asked.

I frowned as I slightly peaked my head out to see Hans' cheeks and blonde hair smeared by black stains, I thin—

"He. Tried. To. Burn. Me." Hans gritted out and momentarily, as if he remembered being burnt, his eyes became redder, darker.

Grimm nodded his head nonchalantly and began to move forward as Hans' lowered his gaze and quickly met mine. His brows pinched together as he stared at me as if he was trying to figure something out. But he couldn't figure out whatever the hell he was looking for. Hans turned around and marched to the chained man.

My steps matched Grimm's pace and it felt like I was walking into the dark. Unaware of my surroundings but yet, eerily comforting. I kept my gaze on his back, watching the very little movement his muscles made underneath the thick coat. His broad shoulders were pushed back and his hands were behind his back as I held one of them. He took each step slowly and confidently like the monster that lurks in the dark.

I find myself becoming his shadow.

Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Unintentionally, I mimicked his steps in silence as an echo danced in the air hauntingly, and yet, I fooled myself into thinking it sounded like a romantic ballad. I should stop doing this, but letting this little delusion play out didn't hurt anyone and I'm sure it will pass.

This will all go away one day, I believed.