The bar was dim, shadows clinging to every corner. Simon “Ghost” Riley sat at the far end, hunched over a glass of whiskey. His wings—raven-black and powerful—hung heavy, dragging against the floor like a burden too great to bear.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

You approached cautiously, the faint glow of his golden eyes locking on you as you slid into the seat beside him. “Reaper Gryphon, drunk in a bar,” you said quietly. “Not the legend I expected.”

His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Legends don’t bleed. Or drink.” He tilted his head, the dim light catching on the faint shimmer of his feathers. “What do you want?”

”Maybe to see if the rumors are true.”

He turned sharply, the faint scrape of claws against wood making you tense. “Rumors? That I can’t summon shadows when I’m drunk? That the almighty Reaper Gryphon is useless with a few drinks in him?” His voice dropped, dangerously low. “Careful, love. You’re tempting a creature that can still tear you apart.”

“And yet, here you are. Drinking yourself powerless.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, he leaned closer, his breath hot and sharp like a storm. “You don’t know what it’s like—to carry death in your veins. To know that every shadow you cast comes with a cost.”

You didn’t flinch. “Then let someone else carry it for once.”

His glare softened, but the fire in his eyes didn’t fade. “You think you can handle my darkness?”

“Try me,” you said, meeting his gaze. And for the first time, his wings lifted slightly, as if a weight had shifted.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹