All Chapters of Alejandro's Human Antidote : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Alejandro’s POVI have never enjoyed being in photos. Maybe it’s the years of silence. The bruises that healed too quickly. The lessons drilled into me since I was a boy: stay small, stay invisible, stay quiet. But that day with Zenith’s family? I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. Belonging. Her mother had insisted on a photo, soft laughter in her voice, phone in hand, eyes bright with joy.And I let her. I smiled. I even let myself feel the warmth of it, the way Zenith leaned into me, the way her mother beamed like the sun itself. For a few seconds, I believed I had finally found peace. But peace, it turns out, is an illusion. A glass bubble floating above knives.I stare down at the bracelet in my hand. It’s quiet now. No glow, no thrum of warning. But the silence is deceptive. Earlier, before I dropped Zenith’s parents off, I felt something shift. A subtle tug in my chest. Like a whisper through bone. I had brushed it off, told Zenith it was just tension. But now… now I under

Eryx Vael’s POV They have lost him. Good. The storm of fury radiating from Xavier’s foot soldiers is as loud as it is predictable.I sip from my glass, letting the crimson vintage bloom across my tongue. It’s not human, of course. Not tonight. No blood from the living should be spilt in celebration, even if it is a private one.I recline in my study, candlelight flickering against the ancient tomes lining the walls. I do not need mirrors or oracles to feel it. The veil has thickened. The aura is gone. He has shielded himself.Fools. Every last one of them. I warned them. I told the Circle of Thorns decades ago: “When the Crownless One breathes magic again, your swords will shatter.” But they laughed. Called it myth. Called him a mistake, the bastard offspring of bloodlines never meant to mix.But I knew better. Because I saw the bracelet once before. Not in a vision. Not in a dream. But in the hands of his mother’s father, a warrior so noble he was erased from the records to bury the

Zenith’s POV I wake up with a start. But it is not fear that yanks me from sleep. It’s him. Alejandro. His side of the bed is empty, though the sheets are still warm. A breeze drifts in from the cracked window, and a scent of pine and... something electric wafts in. I sit up, heart pounding, but not from worry. From something deeper. Something is calling me.I touch the sapphire bracelet on his nightstand without thinking. The moment my fingers brush it, the room blurs. Not just my sight. My soul. The walls dissolve into starlight. The bed becomes mist. The air folds into silence, thick, ancient, sacred and almost suffocating. And then..I see him.He is not the Alejandro I fell asleep beside. No hoodie. No guarded eyes. No pain wrapped in silence. This Alejandro stands tall in a forest of silver fire, his shoulders straight, his chest bare, the blue bracelet glowing like a second heartbeat on his wrist.He faces a man bathed in starlight. The other man is older, powerful, and terrify

Alejandro’s POV Paint clings to the air, that sharp, clean scent of linseed oil and turpentine and dried colors, but beneath it, there’s something older. Earthier. It clings to her.Zenith stands in front of her easel, sunlight dripping over her from the windows like golden lacquer. One bare foot is tucked behind the other, her messy bun tilting slightly off-center, and my hoodie, the navy one she has claimed as hers, hangs off her like a cloak she forgot she is wearing.There are smudges of red and ochre on her cheek. A streak of green on her thigh. And yet she is completely still. Brush hovering mid-air. Not blinking. Not breathing. Just listening. I have seen her like this more often lately. Still, quiet. As if something inside her has paused the world just to whisper.And then she moves again, a fluid, sweeping stroke across the canvas. Like nothing happened. But it did. Something always does. “You’re doing it again,” I say quietly, leaning against the doorway with my arms crosse

Koa’s POV Brooklyn Heights, New York. Brooklyn Heights, New York. The world does not stop for debt. It does not care about oaths made in the shadows or blood spilled on moss-covered stones. But I do and that is why I am here. The wind in this city tastes like rust. Too many horns. Too many lies. Too many people who would trade their name for a few thousand clicks. But I am not here to fit in. I’m here for her.I watch from the rooftop of a neighboring building, perched in silence like a gargoyle in a hoodie, cigarette forgotten between my fingers. Below, the lights inside the brownstone flicker with warm gold, laughter spilling out through half-open windows. One second-floor room is lit, pale curtains brushing the sill, a splash of paint across the glass.She is there. Zenith. No longer the little girl who once kneeled in the forest beside a stranger bleeding out. She is taller now. Her hair longer. She moves like someone still tethered to light, even in a world thick with shadows