Chapter-57 The Trophy

The door of the Velvet Veil remained open for a heartbeat longer than it should have, a cold draft whispering in from the night outside.

The two figures stood at the entrance.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then, with an exaggerated flourish, the tall figure reached up and drew back his hood.

A Satyr.

Dark horns, polished smooth, curled back from his temples, blending seamlessly with his thick black hair. His face was sharp and sculpted, all predator's charm, his grin wide and knowing, stretching just a bit too far. But his eyes... those eyes were filled with a dangerous playfulness. He scanned the room, clearly enjoying the attention, before reaching for the smaller figure beside him.

She flinched as he removed her hood.

The girl beneath was younger than Frederique expected. Fourteen, perhaps.

Snow-white hair fell in an uneven square cut around her pale face, the strands choppy as if they had been hacked off with dull scissors. She wore a thin, pale dress of cheap fabric, torn at the hem, exposing too much of her legs for the cold outside. The bruises on her arms were stark against her pale skin... dark purple blotches blooming along her wrist, her collarbone. Some old, some fresh.

Dried blood crusted around her knuckles.

But her face...

It wasn't fear.

Her black eyes shifted around the room, not pleading or desperate but... curious. Calculating, even.

She didn't seem to understand what the Satyr was parading her for, only observing as if she were trying to piece together some private puzzle.

The Satyr's grin widened as he rested a hand... possessive... on her shoulder and guided her forward.

Flaunting her.

Frederique could feel it.

The intent.

The power play.

A wave of disgust rolled through her, the Hunger stirring like a hot coal deep in her chest.

They moved toward the counter.

The Director, perched elegantly behind the bar with her silver-framed glasses and flawless smile, tilted her head. Though poised, the soft furrow in her brow showed her confusion as she watched the girl.

' She can't feel it,' Frederique realized.

The aura.

The pulse of energy.

The essence of emotion.

Frederique could feel everything from the girl...

The Satyr placed a single gold coin on the counter, smiling wider.

"A private room, if you please."

The Director's lips pursed.

"Minors are not permitted within the Velvet Veil."

The Satyr's smile didn't falter.

"Ah, but you see, my dear, she's special. I've taken her under my care. My responsibility. I'm sure you understand."

The Director's voice cooled.

"This establishment does not allow children."

The girl blinked. She tilted her head, watching the exchange with mild curiosity, not comprehension.

Frederique felt her stomach twist.

"Why doesn't she say something? Why doesn't she resist?"

Selora's presence stirred beside her. The fox-like Pooka straightened, her emerald eyes narrowing. Lira flanked her other side, feline curiosity flickering as she watched the girl closely.

Selora spoke first, stepping forward with the grace of a diplomat.

"You're making quite the display. Would you care to explain why you need a private room... with a child?"

The Satyr's head tilted.

"Ah, an important question. Thank you for asking."

He squeezed the girl's shoulder slightly.

"This young one... is not as helpless as you might assume. I found her, lost, wandering alone in the cold. She is special. And it falls to me, as a responsible soul of our kind, to ensure she does not fall into... improper hands. Surely you see the wisdom in this?"

Frederique's nails dug into her palms.

The girl didn't flinch. She didn't look to him for approval. She merely blinked, as if bored.

' She doesn't even know she's in danger.'

Frederique's voice cut through the tension.

"What's her name?"

The Satyr arched a brow.

"I don't see how that's relevant... "

The girl spoke, finally. Quiet. Calm.

"Crystal."

Frederique stared at her.

"Crystal, do you want to be here?"

A pause.

Crystal blinked, tilting her head as if the question made no sense.

"I don't know why you're all arguing."

She looked between them, blinking slower this time.

"He said he'd help me. Teach me how to use... the thing I did."

Selora's voice sharpened. "The thing you did?"

The Satyr's grin flickered.

Crystal, undeterred, continued.

"I..."

She hesitated, eyes narrowing as she tried to recall.

"A man hurt me. He was... angry. He strangled me, and then I felt it... like something inside just snapped. Then he stopped moving."

Frederique's blood ran cold.

The Satyr chuckled, voice low and oily.

"You see? Special. Untapped potential."

Selora's stare turned icy.

"So you decided to parade her in this place? A brothel of decadence and influence? With no control over what she is?"

The Satyr's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"You assume too much."

Crystal blinked again, her face betraying only confusion.

"What's wrong with being here? I can handle myself. I... think."

Selora couldn't hold back any longer.

"She's not a Changeling. She's not one of us. So what is she, Sylvan?"

The Satyr's lips pulled back slightly, a glimmer of sharp teeth behind his grin.

"That, my dear... is none of your concern."

Frederique moved before Selora could stop her.

A step closer.

The smile returned.

Slow.

Controlled.

But it wasn't kindness.

Not warmth.

It was warning.

The Sylvan felt it.

She saw it in the way his grip tensed, his smile faltering just slightly.

But Crystal?

She just blinked, tilting her head... curious.

"You have no right," Frederique whispered.

"She needs help. Not you."

Crystal's eyes shifted to meet Frederique's directly, her expression calm.

"Why do you care?"

And in that moment, Frederique realized the truth.

Crystal didn't understand the danger.

Not yet.

But she would.