narcotics

. . . 1 : recollection

Fever. Tremors. Erratic blood pressure. Or perhaps it was all her imagination?

The light flickered in the room, its uncertain glow barely piercing the oppressive darkness. The dark curtains blocked out the glistening moonlight. Inside, every shadow was a phantom, every breath a warning. Where Octia stood, she had once confessed her fears. Aria had laughed at her worry—called it endearing, scolding her when she pushed forward. But doctors didn’t laugh at symptoms, nor did they dismiss the cries of their patients. They treated them, even when chasing ghosts. It was their solemn duty—to save a life, no matter the cost.

The room was sterile. The mingled scents of antiseptic and stale coffee hung heavy in the air. Medical charts sat stacked on the desk, though none of them were Aria’s. They never would be. No hospital would admit Aria for the diagnoses Octia had whispered to herself during the late hours. No one else saw what she saw. “She’s healthy,” those frauds had uttered without even bothering to look up at her. “You should let her rest.”

But Octia had known better. She noticed every little detail that they glossed over. The cough felt too sharp. Her flushed cheeks remained too persistent. Her heartbeat—hers!—hesitated for a fraction of a second too long whenever she fell asleep beside her. They were patterns no one else could see, warnings no one else could hear.

“Nothing is wrong. You don’t need to worry about me,” Aria had said to her, brushing her off with that gentle smile Octia loved. Aria—so steadfast, so loving, so caring—everything Octia could never be.

But Octia knew better. She couldn’t wait for ‘nothing’ to become ‘something.’

Her hands still trembled as she recalled the moment they picked up the syringe. “One small dose,” she muttered to herself. Just something—anything—to stop the spread, whatever it was. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know what she was treating. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen these symptoms anywhere but in her mind. What mattered was saving Aria. That’s what she repeated to herself, like a mantra, a prayer. Save her, I have to save her, she repeated, as the needle pierced Aria’s skin.

Do no harm. Octia used to believe in those words. But she supposed even then, she had strayed far, far away from her promise.

Now the room was no longer sterile, its air stained with her failure. It was cluttered and shadowed, filled with yellowed pages ripped from books no respectable physician would own. Yet... Octia supposed she was never respectable in the first place. No longer stacked with medical charts, the desk was now littered with candles, messy articles, and the remnants of rituals that should never be spoken aloud.

“...Aria.” Just her name caused Octia’s voice to shake as she uttered it out loud. “It’s a bit… junky, right now. I’m so sorry, I’ve been… really busy.”

Aria stood there, now twisted into something unnatural. Her pink hair, once vibrant and full of life, now tangled in two large braids. The bright hue contrasted with the pallor of her skin. Her pajamas were now far from pristine. The fabric, stained and frayed, had faded away just like her life. And her eye—gone. Instead, an empty socket stared back at Octia, a permanent reminder of what she had done. Yet, no matter how horrific, Octia could feel her heart flutter ever so slightly. As she gazed into that hollow space, it felt as if Aria were staring back at her; her remaining eye reflecting a haunting mix of confusion and innocence.

They were now matching. Isn't that romantic?

Aria was no longer the same woman of the past, yet she was still Octia’s everything. She could see glimpses of the Aria she had loved. Her mischievous grin, now trapped within the shell of a reanimated corpse. How she looked at Octia with that dull gaze, how she looked at the rest of the world with nothing but pity and uncertainty. Octia’s heart ached simply at the sight. Deserved, of course. The world wouldn’t spare her, not after all that she did. My fault, my fault, my fault…

Octia shook her head. Right now wasn’t the time to dread, wasn’t the time to falter. Aria was her, and Octia would love her all the same.

“I’ll clean up soon, I promise.” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer, her lips curling into a fragile smile. Her gaze grazed across the worn clothes, dirtied from the long time Aria had been gone. “Now that you’re back, I feel motivated to tidy up again... Ah, but that starts with you, Aria.”

She paused, tapping her chin before adding, “Though you might need some help to get cleaned.”

Octia held her gaze for a moment longer. She tried to find reassurance in Aria’s blank expression, but there was only silence. The same silence that had haunted her for these months. It made her skin itch, a tiny invisible mite nipping underneath. Her hands unconsciously slipped, finding themselves on her wrists, hastily scraping her nails to rid herself of the ache, the tingling—the fear.

“Okay.”

Octia blinked. “What?”

“Okay,” Aria repeated, her voice hoarse from disuse, but unmistakably hers.

Her head became blank for a little longer than she’d like to admit. Aria spoke—She spoke! As Octia processed that revelation, her heart accelerated, racing with joy. She clung to Aria’s words, a lifeline after months of suffocating silence. The tension released from her shoulders, allowing her to breathe once more. “Oh!” she blurted out, “Well! Follow, follow. Here- I’ll- Wait no, stay right there for a second!”

Aria was standing just as stiff as she was seconds before as Octia spun around, her focus darting from one thing to another. Everything felt so exhilarating now, a breath of fresh air. She smiled, unable to contain her unbridled enthusiasm. Finally, things were getting better.

A sense of urgency overcame her, making her want to pace around, but she focused her attention on the closet, searching for the perfect outfit for a perfect woman like Aria. Rows of pink dresses, white blouses, a few sundresses, and skirts, each carefully selected from a different boutique. The fabrics were soft and warm against Octia's fingertips. She, personally, never had a taste for fashion, but she knew Aria would appreciate it if she chose something cute for her. Something to brighten her day, her second chance at life.

“Aria! I’ll be—” Octia reached up to grab two high hangers. In her haste, a pink blouse dropped from the rack, hitting the ground. As she bent down to pick it up, the second hanger loosely fell as well, a simple white skirt that she assumed would complement it well. “—I’ll be right there! Just—ah—give me a second...” She stumbled over her words as she made sure these were the perfect fit, trying not to spill the other items on the ground. A few accessories were in order. White knee-high socks cutely decorated with lace trims and a necklace she knew Aria adored would work perfectly.

“She’ll look as good as the day she died,” Octia hummed to herself. Carrying the outfit, she rushed over to Aria’s side with such zeal that she almost tripped in excitement. She moved the clothing into a grip between her arm and chest, careful not to let it fall and become dirtied. With a glance at her, she found Aria still as lifeless as ever.

“I hope this works fine,” she mumbled as she approached Aria, extending her free hand out for her to take. Aria didn’t move. After the brief unresponsive silence tainted with a hint of awkwardness, Octia reached out, taking her limp fingers between hers. For a fleeting instant, she felt warmth flow through her touch. She knew, however, that Aria could barely feel anything anymore. She sighed, squeezing her hand gently. “Walk with me, Aria. Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay...?”

And so she did. Together they walked through the hallway, Aria’s dead weight resting against Octia’s body, her hand clasped tightly in hers. It took Octia several moments to notice that she’d begun to tear up. She didn’t dare to cry, afraid that if she broke down here, it’d only make this worse.

Aria winced, the first in months now, as the bright light of the washroom struck her. It was exciting to see a human reaction from her. But really, Octia thought, she should fix that light already...

Letting go of Aria’s hand, Octia placed the bundle of clothing onto the edge of the sink counter, careful to avoid touching any surface that wouldn’t end up dirtying the dress. Then, with one last look toward Aria, she turned back to the mirror.

Things would get better from here.

…I think.

. . . 2 : reality

The hum of the city thrummed softly in the background, the occasional clatter of a passing car or distant conversation drifting through the crisp autumn air. A gentle breeze tugged at the edges of Octia’s jacket, and she fought the urge to pull the collar tighter around her neck. The outdoor seating of the cafe was sparse, with only a few other tables occupied by murmuring patrons. They’re steaming cups of tea released a faint vapor into the air. Octia sat stiffly, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Her gaze darted nervously around, avoiding the figure standing before her.

“A-Ah, um, she was on a... trip,” Octia stammered, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “She took a vacation out of New Bellevue for a while...”

Ciro raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. His bright yellow glasses glinted as the sunlight filtered through the thin layer of clouds. He rested his elbows on the edge of the table, leaning slightly forward. “Family stuff, right? I got a message about that.” he prompted, his voice smooth and light, though there was a playful edge that made Octia’s skin crawl.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. Her grip on the cup tightened. “To visit her parents... or something.” She risked a glance up at him and immediately regretted it. Ciro’s eyes, framed by the loose curls of his braids, were watching her too intently.

“Interesting,” he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “But a few months is a lot, y'know?”

Octia’s pulse quickened, her mind scrambling for a response. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aria saved her—for a brief second. She had been sitting silently beside her. She turned her head slowly toward Ciro, her movements deliberate and almost mechanical, though her lips curved into a faint smile.

“It’s been... a while,” Aria said, her voice quiet and raspy, but unmistakably hers. “Nice... to see you again.”

Ciro’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Hey! Now you’re talking, literally!” He chuckled, pulling back and leaning against the back of his chair. “It’s been too long. I was thinking you up and vanished off the face of the earth. Glad to see I didn't need to pretend you weren't sitting right there.”

Aria’s gaze flickered to Octia briefly before returning to Ciro. “I’ve... been recovering,” she said haltingly. Every word that came out was slow, far from her usual enthusiastic self. “Needed some... rest.”

“That’s fair,” Ciro replied, nodding understandingly. His tone shifted, becoming more wistful. “Still, I was really looking forward to seeing you perform at the Atria Theatre. Would’ve been your best show. It was your debut in a lead role, after all!”

Octia’s stomach twisted. She’d almost forgotten about the emergency injury report she’d fabricated that night. It was awful and probably has a lot of unexplained holes that, if you peeked into it, would’ve revealed every little disgusting truth of the matter. The weight of that lie pressed heavily on her chest now, but she forced herself to keep her face neutral. Or as calm as she could appear.

“It’s a shame,” Ciro continued. “The city’s been a little dull without you, you know?”

Aria’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her brow furrowed as if she were searching for something—a memory, perhaps. Octia’s hand moved out, resting lightly on Aria’s forearm.

“She’ll be back to performing soon,” Octia said hurriedly, her voice a little too high-pitched for her liking. “Just needs more time to… adjust.”

Ciro tilted his head. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Aria. Your health comes first, after all.” He glanced at Octia, and the weight of his gaze made her throat tighten. “You’re her doctor, right?”

“Yes,” Octia blurted out, despite it being a total lie. Technically, it would be the truth, but not a legal truth. She winced internally but pressed on. “I mean… not officially. Just… overseeing her recovery. As a partner. And, um, roommate. Who happens to be a doctor. Y-Yeah.”

“Huh. Is that legal?” Ciro hummed. “Though I guess that makes sense.”

Octia nodded stiffly, praying he wouldn’t ask any more questions. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as his attention shifted back to Aria.

“Anyway, I’ll stop pestering you two lovely ladies,” he said, rising to his feet. He chuckled, brushing the non-existent crumbs off of his vest. “But don’t be a stranger, Aria! Seriously. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Or, well, if ya' can't find me, just call up Val.”

Aria nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “Thank... you,” she murmured.

Ciro gave them both a parting smile before turning and strolling away, his hands tucked into the pockets. Octia’s eyes followed him until he disappeared around the corner. Near immediately, she slumped forward, burying her face in her hands.

“He knows,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “He totally knows. He’s going to figure everything out. Oh god, what if he tells someone? I'm dead. I'm so dead.”

She lifted her head, her hands trembling as she stood up just to start pacing around their small table. “Valentine’s his roommate, right? Maybe I could ask Valentine like, 'Hey! Tell your friend to not go anywhere near me! Thanks!'" She gestured to Aria who simply sat and stared. "Or maybe like, tell him to deal with him or whatever.

Octia paused, "Actually... He’d probably take it too seriously. Totally, like, for real, kill him. And then I’d have more problems.” She let out a shaky laugh, her eyes darting nervously toward Aria. “Not that I’d want that! Obviously. But… what if that’s the only way?”

Octia groaned, tugging at her hair. She made one mistake before and it was idiotic to repeat that. “Ugh, who am I kidding? Maybe he doesn't even know anything and I'm just overreacting!” She stopped abruptly, clutching the back of her chair. “You’d tell me if I was overreacting, wouldn’t you?”

Aria blinked slowly, her expression as blank as ever. Octia sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “Of course you wouldn’t. Why would you? You’ve got enough to deal with without me.”

She walked around and sank back into her seat, her foot tapping rapidly against the ground. “Okay, new plan,” she muttered. “Maybe I could ask Valentine for something harmless. Like… ask if he's suspicious of me, and if he is, y'know... distract him, or something.” She paused, staring at the table. “Do you think Valentine even wants to help? I haven't seen him in like, forever.”

Aria took a sip of her tea. Octia paused. "I... think I still have his number actually? We worked on a bunch of projects together in medical school.

Her fingers hesitated as she pulled out her phone. She scowled, mentally cursing herself for these idiotic decisions. “God, why am I even thinking about this? Valentine's always been a jerk, he's not gonna help me.”

The screen of her phone lit up, showing her contacts list. There were only a handful of numbers saved. She barely spoke to anyone aside from Aria, and the only few numbers were a few college classmates and the dentist. Valentine’s was easy to find. She stared at it for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen. “This is stupid,” she muttered. “He’s going to laugh at me. Or worse, ignore me completely.”

She bit her lip and tapped the number, typing out a quick text before she could second-guess herself.

> Hey, it’s Octia. I need to talk to you. Where are you?

In retrospect, that wasn't the best first message. The reply came faster than she expected

> Who?

Octia’s jaw dropped. “Who?! Are you serious?” she hissed under her breath. Her fingers flew across the screen.

> Octia Renz. You know, from college? Friend? The one who you decided to jump one day, and you don’t remember me?

> yeah no clue

> What do you want?

Octia bristled, her grip tightening on the phone. “What do I want? How about an apology, for starters,” she muttered. But she typed:

> I need to talk to you. It’s important.

> I’m at my shop. If you want to talk, come here. Bring money. Buy something.

Octia blinked, taken aback. “Shop? What shop?” she mumbled, scrolling through the messages for any mentions of a shop previously. At least, before Octia realized that obviously she wouldn't know, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the idea of him running a business of any type. That guy was a total introvert.

> What shop?

The response came with an address,

> Don’t show up empty-handed.

She stared at the screen, utterly baffled, her finger hovering over the message. “Flowers? Valentine has a flower shop? Of all things?” Her voice came out louder than she intended, and she winced as her own words echoed back at her. The absurdity of the revelation tangled in her mind, clashing against the image of Valentine she had carried for years.

Her memories of him were sharp-edged and bitter, the last one particularly unnerving; Valentine storming out of class after a heated, painfully profanity-laced argument with their professor. His disdain being told what to do, his short temper, and his intellect made him one of the brightest yet most volatile students in their year. And now, somehow, that man decided he wanted to waste his life selling flowers?

“Is this some kind of joke?” she muttered to herself, scrolling back through their brief exchange as if rereading the words might change their meaning.

The mental image of Valentine in a gardening apron standing behind a counter surrounded by vibrant flowers almost made her laugh—almost. Instead, she pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “How does someone go from medical school to flowers? Okay, okay-Absurdity aside–You’re literally NEVER paying that debt off!”

Across the table, Aria stirred slightly, her delicate fingers curling around her teacup. She brought it to her lips with a slow, deliberate motion, her eye flicking to Octia briefly before returning to the tea. The sight of her movements, the sign of her truly being alive, brought Octia a fleeting sense of calm.

“Whatever,” Octia muttered, shoving her phone into her pocket, not bothering to reply. “I’ll figure it out later.” She turned to the table and slid into her chair, her hands brushing over the slightly chipped porcelain teacup she had been nursing earlier. “I have… more important things to focus on.” Her eyes glanced back up to Aria, her expression softening slightly at the sight of her. “Like you.”

The fragrant aroma of chamomile and honey wafted up as she poured herself another cup. Her hands trembled as she lifted the cup, but the warmth against her palms grounded her. She took a slow sip, feeling the tension in her chest ease slightly. “Sorry about all that,” Octia said, her voice quieter now, darting away from Aria. “You must be sick of hearing me rant. That's all I've been doing the past week...”

Aria’s response was almost inaudible at first. It was a small shake of her head, followed by a faint smile that played at the corner of her lips. “It’s… okay,” she rasped, her voice fragile yet carrying a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

Octia’s heart swelled at the sound, her chest tightening. It felt like before. “You’re really getting the hang of talking again,” she whispered, a genuine smile warming her features. “That’s amazing, Aria.”

Aria’s gaze lowered, focusing on the teapot as though contemplating something profound. Or thinking Octia was a dumb and stupid idiot. Octia quickly refilled her cup, adding a generous spoonful of honey before sliding it toward her. “Here,” she said, her tone gentle. “This should help with your throat. I, uh, think...”

The two sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. Outside, the faint hum of the city served as a backdrop to the rhythmic clinking of cups and the occasional creak of the old wooden chairs. A plate of biscuits sat between them, and Octia absentmindedly nibbled on one.

Aria looked up then, her stare locking with Octia’s. There was something in her expression, a quiet fragility that seemed to underscore every movement, every word. But there was something else, too—a spark of determination, is what I’d like to say, but it was more of a spark of annoyance.

“I… think you’re an idiot,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit Octia in a way that left her more confused that offended. “Uh–I, oh. Okay.” The words spilled out carelessly as her mind struggled to process the words. That sounded like something Aria would say in the past, at least. She had gotten so used to the recent days of quiet mumbles and innocent words of ‘I trust you.’ To be reminded of who Aria truly was, was both relieving and filled her chest with a small hint of disappointment.

But regardless, the edges of Octia’s lips curved into a weak smile.

“Aren't I?” She chuckled weakly, shaking her head.

She reached out and took a sip of her tea. The two fell into a relaxing quietness. The moment stretched, a fragile bubble of peace that Octia was afraid to pop. But it couldn’t last forever.

As a few hours passed, the two slipped into lighter conversation. Octia recounted an old, amusing encounter from her college days. Aria, for her part, managed a few more stumbling sentences, sharing vague impressions of things she remembered liking—White chrysanthemums, reading about psychology, a song she couldn’t name but could still hum softly under her breath.

Eventually, the tea grew cold; the biscuits were reduced to crumbs. Octia stretched, her joints cracking as she stood. “Alright,” she said, brushing the crumbs from her lap. “I guess I’d better see what this whole... thing is about.”

Octia extended a hand out to Aria. She took it without question, rising to her feet slowly. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy, her muscles locking up. Her expression didn't change however.

"From the address, we can probably just take a bus... But you still need to walk some more." She pointed out, using her free hand to reach into her jacket. She hesitated for a moment, before letting go of Aria’s hand. It was only for a few seconds, just enough to leave a cash tip on the table for the waiter, but it still pained her. Along with that, she brought back her phone to pull up a map of the street.

Octia brought her hand back to Aria’s, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Alright, alright. Just walk with me, okay?”

The two set off down the street, leaving behind their tables of the outdoor seating arrangements. They started walking side by side, the wind blowing across their skin. Neither of them spoke on their little trip.

A few minutes of mindless walking later, they found themselves on a block Octia vaguely recognized. The streets were lined up with quaint brick buildings, their facades adorned with ivy and potted plants. A small sign swinging gently in the breeze caught her attention. “Valentine’s Vase” scrawled in elegant gold lettering that didn’t quite match the Valentine that Octia recalled in her memories. Beside her, Aria lingered quietly, her gaze darting curiously to the flower boxes lining the sidewalks.

Octia pushed open the shop door, a small bell jingling overhead to announce their arrival. The scent of fresh blossoms hit her promptly, a potent mix of roses, lilies, and other blooms that she wouldn’t ever be able to name. The interior was cozy yet meticulously arranged, with vibrant bouquets lining the walls and a counter at the far end. Aria drifted off toward the nearest display, her hand hovering over a cluster of pale pink peonies but never quite touching them.

Behind the counter stood Valentine, his long dark purple hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He wore a crisp white collared shirt under a purple apron, paired with black shorts that seemed entirely out of place in the otherwise elegant setting. Unexpectedly for a shopkeeper, he was doomscrolling on his phone.

“You must be the mystery texter,” he said without looking up, his voice dripping with boredom. “Let me guess, you’re here to waste my time?”

Octia stiffened immediately, she glanced around the floral shop for a brief moment. It didn't feel like him at all. Finally, she approached him, letting Aria browse through some flowers on the side. “Nice to see you too, Valentine. I guess you forgot about me and the whole ‘you-ruined-my-life’ thing and decided to... get a makeover?”

Valentine’s eyes flicked up, narrowing as they met hers. “Yeah, don’t recognize you." He huffed, absentmindedly playing with his hair with his other hand, "-Also, if it wasn't for those stupid rules, I would've grown out my hair way before.”

“We were college classmates, remember?” Octia’s tone was sharp, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “Medical school? You remember the rules but not me?”

Valentine shrugged, dismissing the situation. He stood up straight, placing his phone on the counter. “Well, you’re here. Might as well buy something.” Over to the side, he picked up his pruning shears before turning back to the counter lined with various unkempt blooms. His gaze slid back down to a small cluster of orchids that needed to be shortened. “Orchids are on sale, by the way. Twenty percent off. Real showstoppers, if you ask me.”

Octia stared at him. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve got to say?”

“What else is there to say?” he replied, leaning down and snipping at a stray stem. “You send me an onimous message and then storm into my shop.” He looks back over at the woman, carelessly waving his sheers to the side. “Flattered, but if you're not buying anything, I'm not interested in any casual dating.”

“I-What?” Octia stammered, completely taken aback. Her shoulders slumped, and as a passing thought, she wished she had never come at all. Unfortunately for her, this was her only thing to do. She took a steadying breath, forcing her hands to unclench. “Are you and-what's his name?—Ciro, are you two roommates?” she asked abruptly, her voice tight. “Is that true?”

Valentine tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Roommates,” he mused, snipping another stem. “I’ve got a roof. He’s under it sometimes. Guess that counts.”

“So... Would you say you are close?”

He sat the pruning shears down with an audible clink, soon meeting her gaze with a bemused expression. “What are you, a cop? I'm not talking.”

Octia rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to slam her fists on the counter. “I’m just trying to get a straight answer, Valentine.”

“And I’m just trying to run a business,” he shot back, gesturing at the surrounding flowers. “Look, I don’t do small talk. If you’ve got something specific to ask, spit it out. Otherwise, buy a bouquet and leave.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Ciro—he’s been snooping around where he shouldn’t. I need him distracted, and I thought maybe you could help.”

Valentine leaned on the counter, his expression utterly unamused. “Distracted? What, like, take him to a movie? Keep him busy with a trivia night? Hook up with him? Do I look like I care about whatever mess he's snooping around? He can jump off a bridge for all I care.”

“It’s serious,” Octia insisted, her voice rising. She glanced over her shoulder at Aria, who was now examining a bouquet of sunflowers. Lowering her voice, she turned back to Valentine. “If he keeps digging, it’s going to get bad. Horrible.”

She wasn’t necessarily lying, but she was definitely making it sound worse for Ciro, rather than the truth that it would likely be worse for her. She and everyone else knew how unreliable the police were in the city, so she wasn’t too surprised that pretending to be Aria on messages and social media during the months she was out somehow worked… But private detectives, and journalists, snoop around everything!

“Add one more adjective and I'll take you seriously.” Valentine chuckled lightly, much to Octia's dismay. “How does this involve me? You’re not giving me anything to work with. Just vague doom and gloom. If you’re not telling me what’s got you so desperate, then why should I bother?”

Octia clenched her jaw. She hadn’t wanted to talk about her mistake with anyone, and especially not with Valentine, of all people. Yet, his apathy was infuriating. “Because you owe me,” she hissed. “Or have you conveniently forgotten the fact that you’re the reason I lost my eye?”

Valentine straightened, his expression briefly shifting to something unreadable. “Oh, so that's who you are,” he said dryly. He waved his hand, “You should be thanking me, really. It’s a good look for you. Very… mysterious.”

He paused for a second. “Just kidding. I don’t care.”

Octia's nails dug into her palms. “You are insufferable.”

“Doors open,” he countered, gesturing to the door. “If I’m so awful, maybe you should ask someone else for help.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice,” she shot back. “You’re the only person who knows Ciro well enough to keep him off my trail. Just… stall him. Distract him. I don’t care how.”

Valentine involuntarily snorted, almost immediately turing away to clear his throat. “-You’re giving me way too much credit,” he said flatly. He didn't let his little surprise keep him from acting as irritating as before. “But sure, let’s pretend we’re besties if it makes your dramatic little quest more entertaining.”

Octia’s irritation simmered, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re the closest-Er, only connection I have to him, alright? I don't know him that much and I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t need your help.”

Valentine looked up, leaning casually against the counter. His sharp gaze flickered over her with deliberate slowness, as if weighing her words and finding them lacking. “And what exactly is Ciro sniffing around that’s got you running to me? Let me guess—you stole his favorite coffee mug and now he’s out for blood?”

Octia glared at him, biting down on her initial retort that came after his ending snicker. “It’s complicated,” she said carefully, though her tone betrayed her mounting exasperation.

“Wow! Groundbreaking.” Valentine motioned broadly. He pulled back from his counter, feigning a caring smile, placing a hand to his heart. “In that case, I’m compelled to drop everything and help! Except… no. No, I’m not.”

“You don’t understand,” Octia pressed, stepping closer to the counter. “I-If Ciro keeps digging, it’ll ruin everything. I just need you to keep him busy for a while. That’s it. You’re good at… distractions, aren’t you? I mean, you’re good at being annoying, so…”

Valentine’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement. “You’re asking me to stick my neck out for your vague minor disaster without even telling me why. What’s next? You’re going to swear me to secrecy with a blood pact? Ask me to join your stupid cult because bad things are constantly happening?”

“I—” Octia faltered, her mind racing for a convincing response.

“Look,” Valentine interrupted, “I’m not exactly in the business of doing favors, especially for people who’ve spent the last however-many-years glaring at me like I personally kicked their dog." He rolled his eyes at her. "If you want my help, you’re going to have to spill the entire story. Otherwise," He exaggeratedly extended his arm to the shelves behind the counter. Various plants that were still blooming lined the rows, a few vines drooping down off the sides. "I’ve got orchids to water and a distinct lack of interest in your problems.”

“Are you serious?” Octia’s voice rose, incredulous. Her hands clutched the ends of her collar. “This is life or death! You really can’t put your indifference and stupid flowers aside for one second?”

“Nope,” Valentine replied, popping the p with infuriating nonchalance. He strolled over to the shelves and picked up another plant, examining it as though it were the most fascinating thing in the room. “Not without details, anyway. Or a million dollars and a trip to the Bahamas.”

Octia’s hands trembled as she stared at him, the weight of his demand pressing down on her. She’d spent months burying the truth, wrapping it in layers of lies and technicalities, that the thought of saying even a part of it was suffocating. But what choice did she have? If she wanted his help, she had to give him something.

Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “Fine. It’s about Aria.”

At the mention of the name, Valentine’s brows furrowed faintly. He glanced past Octia to where Aria stood, her delicate fingers skimming over a row of violets with quiet fascination. “The pink girl?” he said, his tone neutral but probing. “What about her?”

Octia hesitated, her throat dry. “She… She’s not exactly supposed to be here. Not like this. That guy—um—Ciro! He's starting to notice things, and if he keeps asking questions…”

Valentine’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his mask of indifference. Yet, all it did was stir a dizziness in Octia's head. “Not supposed to be here,” he repeated slowly. “Care to elaborate, or am I supposed to take a shot in the dark?”

Octia’s stomach twisted. She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on a vibrant arrangement of hydrangeas on the nearest display. “I… can’t tell you everything.”

“Convenient,” Valentine rolled his eyes. “You want me to bail you out, but you’re keeping me in the dark? That’s not how this works.”

“I-I’m not asking you to take a risk or anything,” Octia shook her head. The edge in her voice betrayed her nervousness. Her hands dropped from her collar, now scratching at the end of her sleeves. “Just… keep Ciro busy. Distract him long enough for me to figure things out. Like, I don't know, don't let him go investigate anything related to me and Aria for a bit... That’s all.”

Valentine’s lips curled into a thin, unimpressed smile. “Right.” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Still aren’t telling me what you did. Seriously, did you steal his coffee mug and piss him off? I mean, I get it. He has pretty cute mugs.”

“It’s more serious than that,” Octia said through gritted teeth, her fingers clenching at the edge of her sleeve.

Valentine’s brow quirked. “Life or death is what you said earlier. But judging by the way you’re dancing around it, I’m thinking it’s more like… life or prison? Getting warm?”

Octia freezed for a second too long. Her silence was answer enough. Valentine’s smirk grew wider. “Thought so. Why wouldn't someone be so afraid of a private investigator? Spill. What’s got you so rattled? Did you rob a bank? Frame someone for murder? Set a building on fire?” He leaned in closer with each word as if each guess added more weight. “All three?”

Octia’s throat tightened. “It’s not like that. Why is that your first thought?”

“First thought? Man, you are not listening to the coffee mug case at all.” Valentine sighed, his eyes narrowing as he loomed over her. “Then what is it? You don’t seem like the type to get nervous this easily, so either this is bigger than you’re letting on, or you’ve bitten off way more than you can chew. Just kidding, it’s both, isn’t it?”

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the counter, trying to steady herself. “It’s complicated,” she said again, her voice cracking under the strain. “But if he figures out what I’ve done… what I’ve risked to bring her back…” She glanced over her shoulder at Aria, who was now idly inspecting a cluster of colorful chrysanthemums. She was blissfully oblivious to the tension permeating the room. Octia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t lose her again. Not after everything.”

Valentine’s eyes flicked toward Aria, then back to Octia. “Bring her back?”

Octia’s jaw clenched. “She… she was gone. But I fixed it. I… used my skills, my resources, to bring her back. L-Like—” Her breath hitched. Okay, now she's going to sound like she's truly lost it. "...Literally. From the dead."

Despite the fact that the revelation would’ve—should’ve—left Valentine surprised, all he did was pause for a few seconds. Octia braced herself for accusations of being insane, making random stories up just like Aria and the rest of the doctors would tell her. Instead, he mumbled something under his breath. “...Huh, guess those cultists were right. Still not joining though.”

“…What?”

"Not important." He shrugged. “So, Ciro seems to have been interested in your little science experiment, huh?”

Octia nodded, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “If he finds out… he’ll ruin everything. He’ll take her away from me.”

Valentine leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers thoughtfully, his smirk never faltering. “Let me get this straight. You, a doctor, learned necromancy. And now you’re worried Ciro will find you out, and you’ll lose everything. Even though he prefers to take on cases that are based in logic and reason.”

“Yes,” Octia said, her voice barely above a whisper. She gritted her teeth just so slightly, "...He's not assuming zombies, I hope, but he's still probably thinking I drugged her or something."

Octia bit her tongue. It was her first thought, but she realized how close it hit home.

Valentine crossed his arms, tilting his head to stare at her. “Me personally? That’s a whole scientific discovery. I’d be telling everyone about it.”

“I-I... I can’t do that,” Octia stammered helplessly. Her words came out as more of a whimper. “They’ll take her away to... I don’t know- Study her? A-And if they find out how she died...” she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she held Valentine’s intense stare. She surely said too much now.

Valentine hummed absently to himself before breaking eye contact with her, turning to examine a collection of flowers on the shelves behind Octia. “Sounds like a shame for you then! I’m just gonna sit back and mind my own business. Because, you see—“ He held his hand in front of his chest. His voice was monotone, making no effort to even sound remotely sympathetic. “—One, This sounds like your problem, not mine. Two, I’m not running a charity here. Three, Now that I know all this, I’ve got some prime blackmail. So really, why would I help you?”

Octia’s stomach dropped. She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Y-You… you were never going to help me...”

Valentine gestured towards himself, a light smile with an almost taunting satisfaction. “I’m a curious guy. Sue me for wanting the full story.”

Octia’s hands clenched into fists, but she forced herself to stay calm. Three people who are too nosy: Detectives, journalists, and Valentine. She took a sharp inhale, “F-Fine! If you’re not helping, I’ll find someone else.”

She turned on her heel, calling softly to Aria. “Let’s go.”

The girl jumped at the sound of her name, turning where she spotted Octia approaching. Aria glanced up, a single white chrysanthemum in her hand. She stared back at the flower again, frowning slightly, before setting it down and following Octia toward the door. Octia made sure to embrace her hand in hers. Just as they reached it, Valentine’s voice stopped them, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Wait.”

Octia turned, her expression guarded but her mind unprepared for whatever that man had to say. “What?”

Valentine’s gaze was distant. His fingers drummed idly on the counter. The rhythm was irregular but deliberate. Finally, he sighed, a sound that seemed heavier than the moment demanded. “You know what?" He said, turning to face her completely. "I changed my mind.”

“...Why?” Octia asked, narrowing her eyes, suspicion coloring her voice.

He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “I realized that I’d prefer Ciro to stay focused on… more important cases. And you… you’re not exactly priority material.”

Octia’s brow furrowed. “That… doesn’t make sense.”

“Shut up.” Valentine countered, his tone suddenly provoked. Octia took a step back at the venom in his voice, surprised that was the first thing that actually got him angry. “Just be happy I’ll do it. But it’ll cost you.”

“How much?” Octia asked cautiously, her stomach tightening as she braced for his answer.

Valentine's smile returned, yet now into an uncomfortable smirk. His eyes glittered with amusement. “We’ll start with five grand. Payable in check. I do take installments with interest too.”

Octia’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? F-Five thousand? That’s absurd for a little request...!”

Octia’s mind raced. Five thousand was more than she’d hoped to pay, but if it meant keeping Ciro off her for enough time to get Aria acting normal and get rid of any convicting evidence... It might just be worth it. She exhaled sharply, glaring at Valentine with all the frustration and desperation boiling inside her. “Fine. I’ll get it for you in a few days. But you’d better not screw me over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Valentine hummed, "Oh wait, I totally would. See ya." He flashed her a smug smile, throwing her one last mocking wave. With an angry sigh, Octia turned back and took her girlfriend's hand.

As Octia and Aria stepped out into the street, the evening air cooling her flushed cheeks, Octia couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just made a deal with the devil. And Valentine’s last words echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of how easily he’d turned the situation to his advantage.

“Oh, and Renz?” he’d called after her. “Next time you drop by, make sure to actually buy something. I’m running a business here.”