From void profound 2

They reappeared in a secluded alley, the faint glow of their teleportation fading around them. Peter placed a hand on his forehead as he and Eva separated, their forms splitting with a shimmer of light. Stretching his arms, Peter glanced at Jane, who was already checking her bank account on her phone.

"Yup, he paid in full," Jane confirmed with a satisfied nod. She removed her necklace, and Peter and Eva followed suit, unfastening the simple chains from their necks. The necklaces held the illusion spells that kept others from clearly seeing their faces, forms, or even hearing their true voices. Though the magic worked less effectively when Peter and Eva merged, leaving people able to perceive their form but not their face, it was still a handy disguise.

"Great. I want to sleep so bad," Peter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The trio began their walk back to the hotel, the quiet of the night broken only by their footsteps.

The moment they stepped into the hotel lobby, the eyes of nearly every man in the room snapped toward Eva. It was something they were all used to by now—Eva's beauty was impossible to ignore. With her wavy black hair, piercing blue eyes, flawless pale skin, and soft pink lips, she was stunning in a way that often made taking her out feel like a burden. Heads always turned, and attention always followed.

Not that Jane and Peter were unattractive—they were far from it. Jane's natural blonde hair, streaked with bold blue and red highlights, gave her a striking, rebellious charm. Peter, with his tall, lean frame and perfectly sculpted muscles, exuded an effortless confidence. But standing next to Eva, even their good looks seemed almost ordinary.

"Miss Eva, I cleaned your room," a young male attendant said shyly, his cheeks tinted red.

Eva gave him a polite smile, her expression unreadable, before stepping into the elevator with Peter and Jane. As the doors closed, Jane crossed her arms and huffed. "We're in a suite, yet they only cleaned your room. Must be nice to have admirers everywhere," she grumbled.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "Jealous much?"

Jane shot him a glare but didn't respond.

When they entered their suite, Eva immediately started toward her room.

"Stop right there, Eva," Jane commanded, her tone sharp.

Eva paused mid-step, rolling her eyes before turning to face her. "What now?" she said, her voice laced with feigned innocence.

"You can't keep acting out on missions," Jane snapped. "How do you expect us to communicate when you turn off your earpiece? I could have died today."

Eva raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Could have? I was hoping for almost died."

Jane's face turned red with anger. "You—"

"Okay, that's enough," Peter cut in, stepping between them. "Eva, go to your room."

Eva stuck out her tongue at Jane like a petulant child before retreating to her room and closing the door behind her.

Jane turned to Peter, her frustration boiling over. "She keeps acting out because you keep pampering her."

"She's being childish. Just treat her like a child," Peter replied with a shrug.

"She's not a child," Jane shot back. "She's intentionally going against me."

"Because you're always nitpicking everything she does. I turned my earpiece off for a while today, too, but you're not mad at me." Peter's tone was calm but firm, his green eyes meeting Jane's with quiet intensity.

Jane stiffened, her fists clenching at her sides. What was she supposed to do? Admit that her frustration wasn't just about Eva? That it had everything to do with her own feelings for Peter? How Eva's casual closeness with him made her blood boil? How she hated that she couldn't do the same?

"I'm not defending her," Peter continued, oblivious to Jane's internal struggle. "I'm just saying you should handle it like you would with a child."

"She's not a child," Jane repeated, her voice quieter this time, before turning and walking away, her footsteps heavy with tension.

Peter let out a long sigh, rubbing his face in exhaustion. "Women," he muttered under his breath, slumping onto the couch.

Peter remembered the first time he met Eva.

*** Flashback ***

They were just kids then—a group of twelve, led by Michael, Peter's fifteen-year-old brother. Peter, only ten at the time, had been the youngest.

The group had decided to explore an abandoned house rumored to be haunted. It was in the bad part of town, a place they knew they shouldn't have gone, but the thrill of the dare had lured them in. When they arrived, the house loomed over them like a shadowy specter. Its cracked windows and sagging roof gave it a menacing presence.

"Okay, let's go in," Michael said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone trying to impress his friends.

Jane, who was also part of the group, grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him back. "Even if there's no ghost in there, the building looks like it could collapse any second," she warned, her voice laced with worry.

Peter frowned at her words. At ten, he was eager to prove himself, especially to Jane. He'd had a crush on her back then, but Jane only seemed to have eyes for Michael. "I'm sure the building's fine," Peter said stubbornly.

Jane turned to him, her expression sharp. "Fine, then you go in," she challenged, still holding on to Michael's arm to stop him from charging ahead.

Peter puffed out his chest, determined to look brave. "I will!"

Michael sighed, freeing himself from Jane's grip. "No, I'll do it."

Peter shook his head. "No! I said I'll go!" He wasn't about to lose his chance to impress Jane.

Without waiting for anyone to stop him, Peter walked toward the house. His heart hammered in his chest as he stepped inside. The air was thick with dust, and the faint scent of mildew made his nose wrinkle. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, and every creak of the old wooden floorboards felt deafening in the eerie silence.

Peter wanted to turn back, but his pride pushed him forward. He'd barely made it past the living room when the floor gave a loud, splintering crack beneath his feet. With a startled yelp, he plunged through the rotten boards, landing hard in the basement below.

He groaned as he pushed himself off the cold, dusty floor, rubbing his sore arm. The dim light filtering through the cracks above barely illuminated the basement. Cobwebs hung in thick curtains, and the stale air carried the metallic tang of rust.

Peter's face burned with embarrassment. Jane had been right—the house really was falling apart. He was about to call for help when a faint sound broke the silence.

A shuffle.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he turned toward the source of the noise. Suddenly, as if by magic, a flame flickered to life in the darkness, illuminating a single candle on a rickety table.

And then he saw it.

Peter's heart leapt into his throat as his eyes locked onto a figure standing just beyond the candlelight. It was his height, its entire body cloaked in long, unkempt hair that fell past its shoulders. The creature's face was obscured, save for a pair of piercing blue eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light, staring at him without blinking.

A scream tore from Peter's lungs, echoing through the basement.

"Peter!" Michael's voice rang out, muffled but frantic, as he called from somewhere above.

Relief flooded Peter, though his voice trembled as he yelled back, "Michael! I'm down here!"

Michael's hurried footsteps creaked overhead, and soon Peter could hear him searching. "Are you okay?" Michael shouted.

Peter tore his eyes away from the creature for only a second, then snapped them back. It hadn't moved, but he wasn't about to let it out of his sight. "I'm fine," he called, his voice shaky. "But there's... there's something in here with me."

"I'm coming! Hold on!" Michael's voice was firm, trying to sound reassuring.

Peter heard Michael moving away, his footsteps retreating. Panic bubbled in his chest. "Wait! Don't go! I'm scared!"

Michael's voice carried back, calm and steady. "Don't be. Remember what Mom always says—everyone has a guardian angel. You're not alone down there, Peter. Your angel is with you."

Peter swallowed hard, his heart hammering. He kept his eyes on the strange figure, his fingers gripping the dusty floor as if bracing for an attack. He didn't feel safe, but Michael's words clung to his thoughts like a lifeline. A guardian angel.

Michael's hurried footsteps echoed above as he ran through the house, searching for another way into the basement. Peter didn't dare take his eyes off the creature, his heart pounding as he stayed frozen in place.

A few minutes later, Michael's voice called down, "Peter! The door to the basement is jammed—it won't open! I'm going to get Dad."

"What?!" Peter's voice cracked with fear.

"Don't worry! I'll run as fast as I can. Do you trust me?" Michael asked.

Peter hesitated, his gaze darting nervously between the creature and the hole above. His lip trembled as he bit down on it. "Okay… but hurry!"

"I'll be back soon, I promise!" Michael shouted before his footsteps receded into the distance, leaving Peter alone in the oppressive silence.

Peter's fear intensified in the stillness, his body trembling. Every sound, no matter how faint, made his heart race. Then, the creature moved.

Peter flinched violently, backing up against the crumbling wall. But the creature didn't come toward him. Instead, it shuffled over to the lit candle, holding another candle in its small, dirt-streaked hands. Carefully, it leaned forward and lit the new wick just as the first candle sputtered, its flame almost extinguished.

In that moment, Peter noticed something he hadn't before. The creature wasn't a monster. It had small, thin arms and hands—like a child's.

Peter's fear lessened, replaced by a mix of curiosity and cautious determination. Summoning every ounce of courage, he took a shaky step forward. The figure didn't move, its glowing blue eyes fixed on him as he approached.

"Hi," Peter said, his voice soft but steady. "My name's Peter. What's yours?"

The figure hesitated, then spoke in a quiet, almost hesitant voice. "They call me Eva."

"Oh…" Peter said, blinking in surprise. "You're a girl?"

Eva nodded slightly.

"Where are your parents, Eva?" Peter asked gently.

"I ran away from my dad," Eva replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Is he… is he a bad person? Did he hurt you?" Peter's brow furrowed with concern.

Eva shook her head firmly. "No. Dad is super nice."

"Then…" Peter began, choosing his words carefully, "he's probably really worried about you."

Eva's glowing eyes looked away, focusing on the flickering candlelight. She didn't respond, hugging her knees tighter to her chest.

Peter didn't press her further. Instead, he sat down a few feet away, giving her space but showing he wasn't going anywhere.