The Danger I want

The Danger I Want Episode 8

Cassian’s POV*

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The rules are clear: no contact until she chooses. No interference. Let her live a normal life, far from the blood and the centuries I’ve dragged behind me.

But then the message went out.

*"Room 204... come alone"*

Sent to her as a message in her phone, using names they know you're familiar with. In that language only the Takers use.

My chest went cold. Because I know what that means. They’ve been watching her since she stepped foot on this campus. Since I stepped foot on this campus pretending to be just another 21-year-old in the Italian department with a student ID and a fake birthday.

Nalia.

She thinks I’m the scumbag. And maybe I am. For lying. For showing up in her class and making her the center of attention on day one. For putting a target on her back just by breathing the same air as her.

But I’d rather she hate me than end up hollow.

I’m running down the dorm hallway at 11:47pm when I feel it — that pressure in the air, like the world holding its breath. The lights flicker. The temperature drops 10 degrees.

The Takers.

They don’t break doors down. They’re too patient for that. They knock. Sweet. Polite. And if you’re scared, lonely, curious enough to open it... you’ve already let them in. Then they take what’s inside you and leave the shell behind.

And Nalia is in her Room. Alone.

I hear it before I see it. Three knocks. Pause. Three more, harder this time. Ferocious. Meant to rattle the fear out of her and make her come.

Through the door I can hear her whispering to herself: “Nalia you're brave.”

Fuck.

The door handle turns from the inside.

I don’t think. I move.

The glamour drops off me — no more college kid, no more handsome face for lectures. My eyes go black, and the air around me tastes like copper and old wars. From the inside of my jacket I pull it out. The Ancient blood sword from a ring can turn to a sword if the right blood wields it. The Ancient Blood Sword. It hasn’t seen light in 400 years. It hums, like it remembers me.

I see them.

Two Takers. Tall, wrong, smiling with too many teeth. Shadows that learned how to wear human skin. One of them already has its hand outstretched toward the gap, whispering: _“Let us in, Nalia. You’re safe with us.”_

“Get. Away. From her.”

My voice doesn’t sound human.

They turn. For half a second there’s recognition. Then hunger.

They lunge.

The first one barely gets a sound out before the Blood Sword goes through its chest. Black smoke and ash. The second swings at me with claws that could peel stone, but I’ve been doing this since before this building was built. I catch its wrist, drive the blade up, and it comes apart like paper in fire.

It’s over in 7 seconds.

Silence. Just the buzzing of the hallway light and the smell of ozone.

I’m breathing hard, covered in nothing because they don’t bleed. They just... unmake.

The door is still open that inch. I can see a sliver of her — eyes wide, gripping the doorframe, brave and terrified and so damn alive.

She doesn’t see the bodies. She doesn’t see me, not really. Not yet.

I step back into the shadows of the hallway before she can. Because if she opens the door fully and sees what I am, what I did, she’ll run. And I need her to choose to come to me. Not because I commanded it.

Not this time.

I whisper, too quiet for her to hear: “Don’t open the door for anyone tonight, Nalia.”

Then I’m gone.

And the hall is empty again.

--

Cassian’s POV*

I don’t go to my dorm.

I go to the roof.

Because if I walk into Room 312 with the smell of unmaking still on me, the wards will scream. And I can’t explain to a RA why the Ancient Blood Sword is humming against my ribs at midnight.

The night air in Bologna is cool, but up here it’s thin. Empty. The city lights look normal from this high. No one down there knows that 2 floors below them, something tried to take a soul through a polite knock.

I sit on the ledge and let the sword rest across my knees. It’s quiet now. Too quiet. It only sings when there’s blood to spill. Ancient things remember.

*They know where she is now.*

That’s the problem. Takers don’t work alone. You kill two, and the Hive feels it. Like plucking strings. And they’ll send more. Smarter ones. Ones that don’t knock.

I drag a hand through my hair. 400 years and I still mess this up.

The rules: _No contact until she chooses._

The reality: I carved her name into every language I know the day I saw her in that cottage. I watched her board the plane to Italy for “a new life” and I followed. Because if I’m anywhere near her, the Takers have to go through me first.

But she hates me.

And she should.

The moment I walked into the lecture hall, I saw her flinch. I saw her think: _scumbag._

Good. Let her think that. Hate is safer than curiosity. Curiosity opens doors.

My phone buzzes. Unknown number.

The text is just coordinates. It's a good thing I linked Nalia phone to mine when I was in her house before I left.

I stand. The sword slides back into the sheath under my jacket like it was never out. Down the fire escape, past the wards I set myself, back to Room 312.

I can’t sleep. So I do what I’ve done for centuries when the Hive is circling: I prepare.

Salt line under the door. Iron shavings in the vents. A copy of her class schedule burned into my memory. If they come for her in a lecture hall, in the cafeteria, in the bathroom between classes — I’ll be there.

Even if she never knows it was me.

Especially if she never knows.

They want her.

And I’ve seen what’s left behind when a Taker wins.

I close my eyes. For the first time in over 400 years, I pray. To anything that would answer me.

Just: _Let her stay angry at me. Let her stay alive._

Somewhere in the building, a door clicks shut.

Not hers.

Not yet.

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