"What?" Valerian asked without looking up. His voice was low, disinterested.
"You’re quite handso for a human," Evelyn mused. "More handso than most creatures of the night I’ve known."
Valerian barely acknowledged her, flipping a page. "Is that so?"
"So tell ," she continued, her voice light, teasing. "Why is the great Valerian Cross suddenly hunting witches?"
His cold mask remained intact, but he answered in that sa bored tone, "Vampires are suddenly resisting silver. They’re healing from holy weapons with potions."
"And you assu witches are responsible?"
"Who else could it be?"
Evelyn humd in thought. So it had already begun. Stephany and Lucien already t months ago.
"And how is your sister?" she asked suddenly.
For the first ti, Valerian looked up.
Sothing softened in his expression. Just for a mont. But then his face hardened again. "How do you know about my sister?"
Evelyn smirked. "Who doesn’t? Everyone knows that Valerian Cross’s only weakness is his dear little sister."
In an instant, he was upon her.
The blade of a silver dagger pressed against her throat, its cold kiss sending a shiver down her spine. His face was close—so close she could feel his breath, warm against her skin. But his voice was ice.
"Don’t even think about harming my sister," he warned. "Or you will beg for death."
Evelyn didn’t flinch. Instead, she chuckled, her voice a breath above a whisper. "And what would I gain from harming her? Or you?" Her gaze held his. "There’s no rit in it for ."
A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes for a split second before he released her, leaning back against his seat.
"You expect to believe that?" he scoffed.
Evelyn chuckled. "Believe what you want. But tell , Valerian Cross—" Her eyes glead in the dim light. "After you interrogate , after you force the truth from my lips, will you kill ?"
Valerian didn’t answer.
"Oh, how noble," she murmured. "The great Valerian Cross, who prides himself on honor and justice, slaughtering an innocent witch in secret."
"Shut up."
Evelyn smiled. "Oh? Did I strike a nerve?"
Valerian’s eyes narrowed into slits, his voice cold as ice. "It’s only right that witches burn at the stake. Then, and only then, will the world be purified."
Evelyn chuckled—a soft, almost musical sound—but her expression remained paralyzed. "You humans have an amusing way of justifying your own destruction," she mused. "It isn’t witches who are ruining the world, Valerian. It’s you humans."
His gaze flicked to her, piercing, a silent warning wrapped in the promise of violence. "If you don’t shut that cursed mouth of yours, I might just kill you myself."
Oh, how dangerous.
Evelyn knew he ant it. There was no rcy in his kind, and certainly none in him. A man like Valerian Cross—the villain, the infamous Night Hunter, the one whose na made even the creatures of the night shudder—wouldn’t hesitate to drive a blade into her heart.
And yet, she smiled.
"How about this? Let’s make a deal, Cross."
His lip curled in disgust. "I don’t make deals with witch-spawn."
Evelyn ignored him until the firelight cast eerie shadows across her face. "Even if you used your precious tos to force the truth out of , all you’d find is my mundane routine—brewing potions in my little hut." She tilted her head. "I don’t mind sharing my recipes with you, but here’s the thing—only witches can brew potions that actually work. Magic within us is what breathes life into them."
Valerian exhaled slowly, as if forcing patience. "And your point?"
"My point is, aside from wasting your ti looking into my useless mories, you’d gain absolutely nothing from my death." Her voice softened, yet there was an edge to it—sharp as the dagger strapped to his belt. "But if I’m alive . . . I can help you."
For the first ti, Valerian closed his book. His dark eyes locked onto hers, scrutinizing, searching. "And why would I believe a single word from a witch?"
Evelyn leaned in just slightly, just enough that he could feel the whisper of her breath. "Because you don’t have a choice."
The fire crackled between them, a quiet audience to their deadly dance.
"You said it yourself, didn’t you?" she continued, her voice laced with sothing dangerously close to amusent. "Vampires resist silver. Holy weapons barely slow them down, and their wounds heal faster after drinking certain potions. And you said it yourself Cross, it’s the witches that brew them."
His jaw tightened.
"You want to fight them?" Evelyn pressed, her gaze flickering like embers in the dark. "Then fight them with their own kind."
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
When Valerian finally spoke, his voice was low. "And why would you help humans?"
Evelyn could have given him many answers. The truth. The lie. A half-truth wrapped in deceit.
But right now, she wanted to be a little wicked. Valerian was so rigid, so guarded—she couldn’t resist the urge to shake him up, just a bit.
"Because I want my happy ending with you."
For the first ti that night, his expression faltered. Just slightly. Just enough.
Of course, she didn’t give him the ti to dwell on it. Instead, she smiled, tilting her head and grinned like a cat. "Or, if that answer is too sentintal for you, I’ll give you another one."
She lifted her hands, palm up. "I want to live among humans without being hunted. I want to walk the streets without soldiers chasing down like an animal. In short, I want peace. Can you give that, Cross?"
The fire crackled. The wind howled outside.
And Valerian . . . was silent. Thinking.
"If you doubt my sincerity," Evelyn murmured, her voice velvet and steel, "we can write it in blood."
His eyes darkened.
She smiled wider thought her face remained impassive.
"Think about it, Cross." She took one step closer, until the space between them was nothing but heat and danger. "I’m far more useful to you alive than dead."
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