Dominic nodded once, the motion precise, like a key turning in a well-oiled lock. He reached under his desk, the wood creaking faintly as a small fridge hummed to life. Glass bottles clinked inside, cold and sweating in the warm room. He pulled out two, the labels faded but familiar, coke in classic script. A bottle opener appeared from a drawer, metal glinting under the lamp light. Caps popped off with sharp hisses, foam bubbling briefly before settling. He handed one to Willow, the glass cool against his palm, condensation slick like morning dew.

  Willow took it, fingers wrapping around the bottle’s curve. The fizz tickled his nose, sharp and sweet, grounding him in this surreal moment. Here he sat, in a dragon’s den, sharing soda with a guy who could probably incinerate him without spilling a drop. Dazzled didn’t cover it. Stunned, maybe. He stared at the bottle, bubbles rising lazy paths to the surface.

  Dominic settled back in his chair, golden eyes steady, assessing. “Kimiko mentioned questions. About your nature.”

  The words hung, simple, inviting. Willow’s gaze dropped to the bottle again, label peeling at the edge. He traced it with a thumb, gathering thoughts. Eternity loomed large in his mind, a shadow that swallowed everything else. “How do you handle it? Staring down forever?”

  Dominic pondered, bottle midway to his lips. He took a sip, the sound soft in the quiet room. Flames crackled in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. “One day at a time. Don’t dwell on tomorrow. Immortal or not, it might never come.”

  The answer landed plain, no flourish. Willow nodded slowly, the logic settling like dust after a storm. Simple, yet it eased the knot in his chest a fraction. Days as steps, not an endless road.

  Dominic set his bottle down, glass meeting wood with a dull thunk. “What about your supernatural parent? What are they?”

  Willow tensed, body going still. The question probed too close, stirring secrets he guarded like fragile glass. He rubbed the back of his head, hair messy under his fingers. “Mom said he’s some kind of spirit. That’s all I know.”

  Not the full truth, but close enough. Djinn stayed locked away, a word too loaded, too revealing. Dominic raised a brow, golden gaze sharpening, but he didn’t press. Instead, he took another sip, then rose, turning toward the window. The glass reflected the room’s warm glow, city lights twinkling beyond like distant stars. “Living under that shadow, it’s a weight few envy.”

  The room grew still, air thick with unspoken burdens. Willow watched Dominic’s back, broad shoulders set against the night. Then the heir turned, eyes narrowing on him, intense as sunlight.

  Willow met the look. “Never met him. Don’t know who he is.”

  Truth in fragments, pieced together without the whole. Dominic leaned against the desk, arms crossed, bottle dangling from one hand. Silence stretched, comfortable in its odd way. Then he spoke. “You really came just to talk.”

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  Willow shrugged, the motion small. Chaos swirled around this world, intrigue and knives in the dark. But here he was, a kid with questions, no schemes hidden in his sleeves. New, apparently.

  Dominic exhaled a scoff, shaking his head. “Born into this. Never knew mundane life. Human once, but always aware.”

  Willow leaned forward, bottle forgotten in his lap. “Met others like us? Sorcerers?”

  “Yes. Rare. Needs a human and something powerful, ancient. Seen a few over the years.”

  Willow stood then, legs unsteady but driven by curiosity. He stepped closer, the carpet soft under his shoes. “How old are you, really?”

  Dominic’s lips twitched, the smallest smirk cracking his composure. “Twenty-two.”

  Willow rubbed his neck, heat creeping up. “Expected ancient. Centuries old or something.”

  The heir raised a brow, turning back to the window. “Not yet.”

  Silence returned, wrapping them like a shared blanket. Odd, this ease with a gangster. Heir to Wyverns, son of their leader, probably. Yet here, soda in hand, welcoming a stray. Willow took a breath, the air tasting of oak smoke. “Why accept? This talk.”

  Dominic pondered, gaze on the city below. “I admire directness. No deception. You asked for an audience. Proper to grant.”

  Caught off guard again. Honor from a gang leader, unexpected as rain in a desert. Willow wanted more, questions bubbling like the soda in his bottle. Powers, how they twisted and grew. What pitfalls lurked for sorcerers beyond the basics dumped on him.

  Then his eyes caught the book on the desk. Leather-bound, edges worn, title embossed in gold. A Thousand and One Nights. A tiny smile tugged at Willow’s lips. “Alf layle wo layle.”

  Dominic tilted his head, intrigued, golden eyes flickering.

  Willow quoted, voice soft in the Arabic rhythms. “Qalat, balaghani ayyuha al-malik al-sa’id, dhu al-ra’y al-rashid.”

  The words flowed, familiar as childhood lullabies. Dominic waited, expression curious.

  “She said, it has reached me, O fortunate King, possessor of sound judgment.” Willow took a sip, the coke fizzy on his tongue. “Mom read it to me in Arabic. You read it?”

  Dominic paused, then shook his head. “For my sister. She loves fairytales. I knew it was about a woman telling stories to a king.”

  Willow smirked softly. “Woman tricks an abusive king from killing her. Seduces with stories, cliffhangers every night, until he falls in love. Framed as romance, but core? Survival. Tyrant killing wives until one plays the long game. Woman’s wit against murder.”

  Dominic blinked slowly, turning to the book. For the first time, a quiet chuckle escaped, low and warm. “Rose would spot that subtext instantly.”

  The name draped melancholy over him, shoulders sagging a fraction. Willow watched, bottle heavy in his hand. “You alright?”

  The question hung, flames popping in the hearth. Dominic took a breath, swigging his drink. Golden eyes bore into Willow, weighing, pondering ‘why share with a stranger?’ Then, “Rose is sick. Magical disease. No cure. She’s twelve.”

  Willow’s eyes widened, grip tightening on the bottle until glass creaked. Heart pounded, a drum in his chest.

  Dominic continued, voice steady but edged with shadow. “If I had a single wish…”

  The words trailed, but they struck deep. Willow’s stomach dropped, a pit opening wide. The room spun faintly, a cosmic weight crashing back, twisted now with unintended peril.