Illusion

I peel off the bloody gloves, watching as they fall to the floor with a soft thud. I usually keep my distance from this sort of thing, preferring to let others handle the dirty work. But tonight, I needed the release, needed something to take the edge off. There are only two things that work: blood or sex. And since my thoughts have been relentlessly dominated by a certain brown-eyed beauty I can't have in my bed right now, blood it had to be.

The metallic scent lingers in the air, filling the room with a sharp reminder of the line I've crossed tonight. I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension ebb slightly. I'd needed this, even if it's not exactly my preferred way of handling things. Sometimes, letting the pent-up frustration go is the only way to stay focused—to keep a level head when there's no room for weakness.

Elijah is waiting outside the room, leaning against the wall with his usual unbothered expression. He gives me a slight nod as I step out, and we move wordlessly back down the dimly lit hallway. My office awaits—a sanctuary at the top of the building with all the amenities I need. No point heading back to my apartment; the office has a bedroom and bathroom for nights exactly like this one. Nights where business doesn't end until the small hours, and every last loose end needs tying up.

We make our way to the private elevator, the soft hum of it moving us upward. As the floors tick by, my mind strays back to her. Leona, with that fire in her eyes, the way she looks at me as if she sees through every mask I wear. She's a distraction, and yet she's the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.

*

I collapse onto the bed, feeling exhaustion settle deep in my bones. A glance at the clock tells me it's just after 3 AM. I debate with myself, teetering on the edge of resistance, but the need to see her—to somehow bring her closer, even if it's only an illusion—overpowers any sense of restraint. With a sigh, I reach over to the hologlyph device, flicking it on. A soft hum fills the room as it boots up, a faint triangular glow settling into my hand.

I navigate through the familiar files, fingers pausing when I find the one I'm looking for. The moment I click it, a 3D display flickers to life, and there she is—Leona, standing before me in pixelated perfection. She has no idea I've done this, that I've captured these fragments of her. It's borderline obsessive, maybe even psychotic, I know that. But when it comes to her, my control doesn't just slip—it shatters completely.

With a few quick adjustments, the hologram shifts, and suddenly she's human-sized, standing right beside the bed. This was taken the day she'd spent hours in the water, swimming with the grace of something otherworldly. I remember every detail—the way she'd emerged, droplets sliding down her skin as she walked over to lie down on the sun chair. She was soaked, sprawled out like my own personal siren, there to drag me under and drown me.

I shift closer to the image, letting myself fully indulge in this projection of her. My gaze follows a droplet trickling down her temple, trailing along her jaw, and I reach out on instinct, brushing my fingers toward it as if I could actually touch her, as if I could feel the warmth of her skin. But, of course, my hand moves through nothing but empty space, scattering pixels in its path. Reality comes crashing back, and the illusion dissolves.

Frustration stirs low in my chest, tightening with the ache of wanting someone I can't reach—of needing something that I've locked myself out of. I let my hand fall away, and after a moment's hesitation, I power down the hologlyph. The room darkens once more, and I lie back, closing my eyes. The image of her lingers, vivid and torturous, as

sleep eludes me.