Long Kiss Goodnight

The fire roared past her, blistering the night where she’d been standing just a heartbeat ago.

In the shadow-soaked warehouse, Kane’s walking stick looked deceptively plain, its glossy black sheen catching stray glints of streetlight that filtered through splintered window panes high above. But as Kane’s grip tightened, the air around it rippled, bending the light like a heat haze.

A flicker, then another—the glamour buckled. Paint peeled away from its surface as if burned off, curls of darkness crumbling to reveal polished mahogany, rich and deep red, laced with snaking veins of silver and gold inlay. It wasn’t just a staff; it was a weapon, a promise.

Flames leapt from the staff’s head, licking hungrily along its length as it transformed, no longer the humble cane it pretended to be but a living inferno forged for battle. Kane’s fingers flexed, and the staff blazed to life, carving arcs of light through the smoky air, each swing a ruthless slash of light. He spun into the thick of it, fast and feral, the heat bending to his will—a dancer cloaked in fire, grinning like death itself.

Kane wasn’t merely a Caster; he was a Pyromancer—Gold Ranked. Before his injury, he could have been one of the best. Even now, each movement was art, woven from flame and fury.

But Aylin? If he was fire, she was the quiet storm—fluid, elusive, and cold as ice. She flowed around his strikes like water slipping through a clenched fist, a hair’s breadth from his body but untouchable. Kane’s strikes were a spectacle—a carnival of fire and flash, meant to burn, meant to dazzle. Aylin ducked and twisted, her eyes locked on his every motion, catching every cocky flick of his wrist, every flourish that hinted at his arrogance.

They spun together, a blur of fire and shadow. The Infernal Staff carved arcs of flame through the air, while Aylin was a blur of open hands, strikes that came fast and left nothing but afterimages. The space buzzed with raw, live-wire tension—a charge building with every breath, every movement. She could see the thrill in his eyes, the way he drank in the chaos. But Aylin’s focus never wavered; she was playing the long game, watching, waiting for the right moment.

“So,” she taunted, slipping in with a feint that he dodged effortlessly. “You’ve got the key. Now what?”

He parried her next strike, their movements a deadly dance, each testing the other. “Now? We get the box, and we put this thing to bed. No one should hold the Blood Gems. No one.”

She scoffed, launching a quick jab that he sidestepped. “So that’s it? Just bury that kind of power, seal it away like some fairy tale?”

“That’s the plan,” he replied, blocking her follow-up and twisting to avoid her next strike. “Do you even know what kind of fire you’re playing with, darling?”

She smirked, swinging up her fist, then following through with a stinging backhand that snapped across his face, more insult than injury. “Do you?”

He recovered, rubbing his jaw with a smirk of his own, his eyes gleaming with a hint of respect. They circled each other, breaths sharp, their fight picking up intensity—sparks from his staff lighting the edges of the room as her movements became faster, sharper, the air thick with tension and flickers of flame.

Kane swung again, the staff twisting, symbols flaring up in a sickly, unnatural glow. A wave of force shot towards Aylin, but she was faster. She rolled beneath the onslaught, a blur of motion, and closed the distance, her fists striking with precision—a series of blows aimed to end things quick. Kane struggled, each of her hits cracking into him like thunder on brittle wood. Kane, in a desperate move, unleashed a blinding blast of light, while simultaneously propelling himself backward several feet in a dazzling flash.

He slouched, hands braced on his knees, sucking in deep breaths. Spatial magic took its toll—especially when it was outside his usual wheelhouse. The aether drain had clearly hit him hard, leaving his limbs sluggish.

She took advantage of the lull, wiping the haze from her eyes, a quick blink restoring clarity. They locked eyes, both knowing this was just a momentary truce. And then, they closed the gap, moving in once more—ready to finish what they’d started.

“Cute tricks,” she sneered, her voice like a blade, sharp with venom. She slipped to the side as his staff swung down, missing her by inches, the air crackling with residual heat. “Not bad for a ‘cripple.’”

Kane chuckled, unbothered, his grin infuriatingly calm as he twisted the staff back up, flames licking dangerously close to her face. “Funny, I was just thinking the same. You’re not half bad yourself—for a ‘dame.’” He feinted left, then threw a jab with his free hand. “Tell me, where’d you pick up Thousand Hands?” He advanced, forcing her back. “Thought old Master Ki hung up his hat years ago.”

“Oh, I’d tell you,” she shot back, deflecting his strike with a flick of her wrist, a wicked smile curling on her lips, “but then, I’d have to kill you.” With a swift spin and a teasing flourish, she ducked under a fiery burst, landing on her hands and driving a brutal mule kick into Kane’s gut, sending him staggering back.

Kane gritted his teeth, stumbling, but deflecting nonetheless. With every step, he lost ground. He swung wildly, desperate, the dark energy sputtering in fits. Aylin moved, as elegant as ever, her body twisting mid-air, her heel slamming down. Kane jerked aside, barely avoiding the blow.

They moved like shadows in a storm, weaving between crates that shattered under the force of Kane’s attacks, splinters and shards exploding around them with each fiery strike. Flames flared, licking hungrily at the wooden floor, but with a flick of his wrist, Kane pulled the fire back, a master dancer controlling his own chaos, reining in the inferno before it could devour the whole warehouse.

I glanced over to the far side of the warehouse, where Frank lay quietly, just beyond the chaos. Fortunately, the fire hadn’t reached him—not that flames would take him out; Frank was resilient, stubbornly so. But even from here, he looked worse for wear, his form ragged and frayed around the edges.

Aylin darted to the side, but her foot caught on a splintered crate, and for an instant, she seemed pinned, her eyes flashing wide, helpless. Kane’s lips twisted into a grin, slick with triumph, as he bore down, his staff blazing in his hands like a spear of molten light. He lunged, savoring the sweet inevitability of the kill, already tasting victory, hearing the phantom applause pounding in his head.

In a flash, her expression shifted—the helplessness melting into something cold and sharp. She twisted, ducking beneath his strike with deadly precision. Kane’s staff hissed through empty air as her leg whipped around, a roundhouse kick connecting hard against his jaw. The force jolted him, his control wavering as the fire roared out in a wild arc.

Flames licked dangerously close to me, and I threw myself to the side, pain searing through my ribs as the fiery tendrils whipped past, scorching my already shredded shirt.

“Oh, come on, really?!” I shouted, struggling against the ropes that held me fast on the filthy floor. “Watch where you point that thing!”

Kane’s eyes went wide—surprise splintered across his features, but Aylin was already on him. Her elbow crashed into his jaw, the impact snapping his head sideways. Before he could even think to recover, she twisted her hips, her leg hooking behind his, a swift kick sweeping his feet out from under him.

He hit the pavement with a thud that filled the room, a dull sound swallowed by the dark. Kane’s eyes fluttered, his dazed gaze struggling to focus. Aylin was relentless—already over him, her knee digging into his chest.

He grunted, lashing out with his staff. Aylin’s foot connected with his ribs, and he buckled—the last scrap of arrogance draining from his face as he hit the floor, his staff flying across the cold concrete, extinguishing with a sputter of dying embers.

“Can’t fight without your toys?” Aylin asked, her expression cold, her voice vibrating with something deeper, an undercurrent of emotion just barely restrained.

Her legs wrapped around his neck, preparing to twist, a lethal calmness in her eyes. Kane was a dead man on borrowed time—he knew it, she knew it. He flailed, struggling wildly to break free, but the crushing power of her legs squeezed the air from his lungs. Panic gave way to an eerie calm as the inevitability of death settled over him, a cold certainty wrapping around his mind like a final embrace. He cast me one last look, a silent farewell—like the final nod shared between old friends at the end of the road.

And then, her gaze flickered to me as well. I don’t know what she saw in my eyes, but whatever it was gave her pause. She took a deep breath, the cold fury in her eyes shifting, softening for just a heartbeat.

Instead of breaking his neck between her legs, she reached into the air. A glint of metal appeared between her fingers. Before Kane could react, she drove the pin into his side. His body seized, his eyes bulging as the poison flowed, the shock unmistakable. She released him from her grip and stood, dusting herself off.

“Night, night,” she breathed, her voice almost a whisper, the smirk on her lips cutting deeper than any blade.

“You…” Kane gasped, voice trembling with pain and disbelief. “You little…” The words dissolved, his body going slack, eyes rolling back as darkness claimed him. Kane went limp. I watched closely—he was still breathing, only unconscious.

***

She knelt, slipping her fingers into his pocket to retrieve the key. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” Her face was expressionless, but in her eyes lingered something darker—something that looked like regret. She turned to me, a faint, crooked smile pulling at her lips as she moved closer. How the hell did she move that fast? She didn’t strike me as a Caster, and I hadn’t spotted a single Enhancement on her. Though, to be fair, I hadn’t inspected all of her.

“Good job,” I muttered, managing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Now cut me out of this thing.”

She shot me a look, eyebrow arched, her eyes dancing between amusement and something sharper, almost regretful. “Yeah, about that...”

She knelt beside me, her fingers brushing the skin of my arm. There was something soft in her touch, an apology wrapped in the moment. “Sorry, Jack,” she whispered, her voice cracking, the pin in her hand catching the dim light.

“Wait!” I gasped, the word slipping out more like a plea than I’d have liked.

She paused, her eyes meeting mine, and I could see the hesitation there—the conflict. Something human left in her, at least. “You gonna at least tell me what the hell is going on?” I rasped. “You owe me that much, don’t you?”

She studied me, her gaze lingering, as if she was weighing a choice far heavier than the pin poised in her hand. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping.

“I guess you deserve that much,” she said. “Sorry about getting you tangled up in all this. But don’t worry, Jackie. It’s almost over. My boss doesn’t care about you, not really. Just the Box. Or more specifically, what’s inside it. We knew someone wasn’t keeping up their end of the bargain, but he needed proof. And you… well, you were useful bait to flush them out.”

“Bait?” I hissed, the word like acid on my tongue. “You took one hell of a gamble getting me involved. What if I’d run off with the key?”

She smiled, and for a second, I could almost see the person she might’ve been. “I read your file, Jack. You’re not the type. And besides, I’ve been watching. Since the beginning.”

I blinked, a cold realization dawning. “Watching? You mean… you’ve been my shadow this whole time?”

She gave me a faint nod, her smile both apologetic and sly. “You nearly caught me a few times, too. I have to say, I underestimated you.”

“McGuffey Estate… that was you?” I muttered, the memory slotting into place; a small piece of the puzzle.

“Guilty,” she said with a lazy shrug, her tone casual, like they were discussing the weather. “Look, I took a calculated risk. Cat was keeping his cards way too close—couldn’t tell if he was hiding it himself or if the Council already had their claws on it. So, I had to shake things up, turn up the heat, flush everyone out, and see where the pieces landed.” She smirked, leaning in. “Tonight, Cat got sloppy—practically spilled the beans. And your pal Kane here? Well, he just confirmed it all. We can’t go to war blind, sweetheart. Alliances are about trust, or at least knowing who’s waiting to stab you in the back.”

“And now?”

“Now we know exactly who not to trust.”

“And who are you doing all of this for?” I asked.

She hesitated, her gaze flitting away, a shadow passing over her expression. “That’s as far as I can take you, Jack. I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Silhouette,” I said, the name like a ghost slipping from my lips, the pieces clicking together at last.

Her eyes widened, curiosity flickering across her face, mixed with something like surprise—and exhaustion. “Who?”

“The guy Cat’s working for,” I continued, my voice quieter now. “At the meeting tonight.”

She tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Never heard him called that before. You’re too clever for your own damn good, you know that?” She paused, her lips parting, then closing, as if there was more she wanted to say but couldn’t.

The silence between us stretched, heavy with all the things we couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say. The weight of the night, the chaos, the betrayals—it settled in that silence, a wall between us neither of us had the strength to climb.

“I really am sorry, Jack,” she murmured, her voice so soft it sounded like she was speaking to herself. “Dragging you into this mess… none of it was fair. I shouldn’t have—you didn’t ask for any of this.” Her gaze drifted somewhere distant. “I was a big fan, you know? Back then. I used to read about you in the papers. That part wasn’t a lie. I’d always wanted to meet you.” She paused, almost wistful. “I thought… maybe if things had been different, if we’d met under different stars…” Her voice faltered, and for a fleeting moment, the mask slipped, leaving something raw and unguarded. Or was that, too, just another mask beneath the last? Who was the real Aylin? What lay hidden behind those intense, unreadable eyes?

“In another life, perhaps,” she whispered, nodding faintly as though convincing herself it might have been true. A sad smile ghosted across her lips before her face hardened, the walls snapping back up. Her fingers tightened around the pin.

I shifted uncomfortably on the floor. “One last thing—think you could toss me my jacket? It’s rather cold.” I nodded toward the far side of the warehouse, where it lay draped over a crate, Frank’s presence faintly pulsing from within. The connection was thin, a barely perceptible thrum—no words, just the subtle awareness that he was there, watching, holding on.

Aylin caught my glance, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she rolled her eyes. “Nice try,” she said softly, her voice edged with a teasing finality. “Goodnight, Jack.”

She leaned down, her lips pressing to mine in a fierce, almost desperate kiss that tasted of goodbye.

A sharp sting bit into my arm, numbness spreading fast, catching words on my tongue before I could speak. Her face blurred, but the mix of defiance and sorrow in her eyes burned through, unshakable.

My mind spun, caught between the fading warmth of her lips and the rising fog, emotions tangled in knots I didn’t know how to unravel. Whether she meant any of it, I couldn’t say—but some part of me, perhaps larger than I’d admit, wanted her to.