CHAPTER 145: CHAPTER 145: THE VIAL

MAILAH LOOKED BACK.

The shop was gone. Just a blank wall between the gelateria and the bookstore, as if it had never existed.

"What the hell was that?" Oliver breathed.

"A warning," Grayson said grimly, his hand still gripping Mailah’s. "Or a trap we just walked into."

Lucien was pale, his usual brightness dimmed to something brittle. "We need to leave. Now."

"Agreed," Elin said, already scanning the piazza like she expected the shop to reappear. "This whole thing feels wrong."

But Mailah was staring at the vial in her hand, watching the liquid inside shift and swirl like captured starlight. Through the crystal, she could see fragments that weren’t quite images—whispers of memory that tugged at something deep in her chest.

"Mailah." Grayson’s voice pulled her back, sharp with concern. "Give it to me."

"What? No."

"That thing is dangerous. Whatever power it holds—"

"Is exactly why we can’t leave it behind or throw it away," she interrupted, closing her fingers around it protectively. "What if she’s right? What if we need it?"

"We won’t need it," Grayson said, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of uncertainty that betrayed him.

"You don’t know that."

"Mailah—"

"No." She stepped back, slipping the vial into her jacket pocket. "I’m keeping it. Just in case."

For a moment, she thought he might actually try to take it from her. Then Shadow meowed—sharp and imperious—and the spell broke.

"Fine," Grayson said tightly. "But if that thing so much as glows suspiciously, you tell me immediately."

"Deal."

They started walking back toward the car, the easy joy of the morning completely shattered. The market felt different now—every vendor’s smile too sharp, every shadow too deep.

Mailah kept her hand in her pocket, fingers wrapped around the vial’s cold glass.

"So," Lucien said after a long silence, his voice forcibly bright. "Anyone else hungry? Because I’m starving, and I refuse to let some creepy memory witch ruin Italian food for me."

"Memory witch?" Elin asked.

"I’m workshopping the name. Suggestions welcome."

Despite everything, Mailah felt her lips twitch. "How about ’that woman we’re never speaking of again’?"

"Too long. Doesn’t fit on a wanted poster."

"Why would we make a wanted poster?" Oliver asked.

"For the aesthetic."

Grayson made a sound that might have been a laugh or a growl. "You’re all insane."

"Says the incubus who nearly incinerated our neighbor this morning," Lucien shot back.

"That was different."

"How?"

"He was unexpected."

"So was memory witch lady, but you handled that with your usual charm and warmth."

"I will leave you in this piazza."

"No, you won’t. You need me."

Grayson’s silence was answer enough, and Lucien grinned like he’d won something.

They found a small trattoria tucked down a side street—the kind of place that looked like it had been there for centuries, with vine-covered walls and mismatched chairs and the smell of garlic and tomatoes thick in the air.

The owner, a round woman with flour on her apron and warmth in her eyes, took one look at them and immediately began making decisions on their behalf.

"You sit, you sit!" she declared, gesturing to a table in the corner. "You look like you need food. Real food. Not tourist food."

"We’re tourists," Oliver pointed out.

She waved this away dismissively. "No. You have the look of people with problems. Problems need pasta."

Mailah couldn’t argue with that logic.

They settled into their seats—Grayson immediately positioning himself so he could see both entrances, Lucien claiming the chair with the best light, Shadow somehow materializing under the table despite all attempts to leave her in the car.

"That cat is going to get us kicked out," Grayson muttered.

"That cat," the owner said, appearing with bread and olive oil, "is welcome. She has good energy."

Shadow purred smugly.

"See?" Mailah said. "Good energy."

Grayson’s expression suggested he strongly disagreed, but he said nothing.

The food came in waves—antipasti that made Mailah’s eyes roll back, pasta that tasted like someone’s grandmother had poured love directly into the sauce, wine that Lucien declared "significantly better than grape-flavored grapes."

For a while, they just ate. The tension from the shop slowly unwound, replaced by something almost normal. Almost human.

Mailah watched Grayson eat with the same methodical precision he applied to everything—each bite measured, each movement controlled. But there was something different now, something she couldn’t quite name. He seemed more grounded.

More alive.

Their eyes met across the table, and the air between them thickened. She felt the weight of the vial in her pocket like a brand, a reminder of all the things they weren’t saying.

"So," Elin said, breaking the silence with her usual directness, "are we going to talk about what just happened, or are we pretending it didn’t?"

"I vote pretending," Lucien said through a mouthful of pasta.

"Of course you do."

"What’s there to talk about?" Oliver asked. "A supernatural entity tried to manipulate us with magical objects and ominous warnings. It’s Tuesday."

"It’s Friday," Elin corrected.

"My point stands."

Mailah set down her fork, her appetite suddenly gone. "She knew about me. About... who I’m not."

The table went quiet.

"She was guessing," Grayson said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Was she?" Mailah met his eyes. "Because it felt pretty specific."

"She’s a manipulator," Lucien said gently. "That’s what they do. They find your fears and weaponize them."

"But what if she wasn’t wrong? What if—" Mailah stopped, unable to finish the thought.

What if people are starting to see through the lie? What if I’m not as good at being Lailah as I thought?

Grayson’s hand found hers under the table—warm, solid, real. "You’re not her," he said quietly. "And that’s not a bad thing."

The words hit her square in the chest. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something raw in his expression. Something that looked like truth.

"But you married her," she whispered.

"I married a stranger," he corrected. "An arrangement. A contract." His thumb traced patterns on her palm. "You’re not a stranger. You’re—"

"What?" she asked when he didn’t continue. "What am I?"

His eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might actually answer. Then Lucien cleared his throat loudly, and the moment shattered.

"Right," Lucien said. "So. Memory vial. Are we using it or selling it on supernatural eBay?"

"There’s a supernatural eBay?" Mailah asked, grateful for the distraction even as her hand remained in Grayson’s.

"Figure of speech. Though honestly, there should be."

"We’re not using it," Grayson said firmly. "And we’re not selling it. We’re destroying it."

"Can we destroy it?" Oliver asked. "Things like that usually have protections."

"Then we’ll lock it away. Somewhere safe."

"Or," Elin said slowly, "we keep it as insurance. Just in case that woman was right about secrets unraveling."

"You can’t seriously be considering—" Grayson started.

"I’m considering all options," Elin interrupted. "Which is more than you’re doing."

The tension ratcheted up again, sharp and uncomfortable.

"Hey," Mailah said, squeezing Grayson’s hand. "Let’s not do this here. Let’s just... eat. Breathe. Pretend to be normal for a few more hours."

"I don’t know how to pretend to be normal," Grayson said.

"Lucky for you, you have an excellent teacher."

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Lucky me."

The rest of the meal passed in careful conversation—safe topics, surface-level observations. But underneath it all, Mailah felt the weight of unspoken things pressing down.

When they finally left the trattoria, the sun was lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. The walk back to the car should have been pleasant. Should have been.

But Mailah couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

She glanced over her shoulder more than once, searching for silver-white hair in the crowd. But there was nothing. Just tourists and locals and the endless flow of market life.

"You feel it too," Grayson said quietly, falling into step beside her.

"Feel what?"

"Like something shifted. Like we crossed a threshold we can’t uncross."

She wanted to deny it. But he was right. Everything felt different now—heavier, more fragile.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"I know something’s coming. I just don’t know what."

They reached the car where Oliver was already loading their bags into the trunk. Lucien was showing Elin something on his phone, both of them laughing at whatever ridiculous purchase he’d documented.

For a moment, watching them, Mailah felt a fierce protectiveness surge through her. These people—this strange, broken, beautiful group—had become something like family.

And she would do anything to protect them.

"Grayson," she said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Earlier, when you asked what you are to me—" She took a breath, gathering courage. "You’re everything. Everything I didn’t know I was looking for."

He went very still. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were molten—silver and human all at once.

"Mailah—"

"I know the timing is terrible. I know we have a million problems and a creepy vial of magical liquid and probably something horrible coming. But I needed you to know."

For a long moment, he just stared at her. Then, with a swiftness that stole her breath, he pulled her close—not quite an embrace, but something more desperate.

"You’re going to ruin me," he whispered against her hair.

"Good," she whispered back. "You could use some ruining."

His laugh was barely a sound, but she felt it rumble through his chest. When he pulled back, his hands came up to frame her face—gentle, reverent, like she was something precious and breakable.

"If I lose control," he said quietly, "if I become the monster they all think I am—"

"You won’t."

"But if I do—"

"Then I’ll bring you back," she said firmly. "Every single time."

His forehead dropped to hers, and they stood there in the golden afternoon light, the market sounds fading to nothing.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured.

"Probably not. But you’re stuck with me anyway."

"Mailah—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by Lucien’s shout. "Are you two going to stand there being adorable, or are we going home? Because Shadow just stole someone’s entire rotisserie chicken and we need to leave before the police arrive!"

They sprang apart to find Shadow indeed carrying a full chicken in her mouth, looking extraordinarily pleased with herself.

"Oh my god," Mailah breathed.