Chapter 186: Chapter 186: The Color Gray

MAILAH AND LUCSON DIDN’T TALK FOR A WHILE.

The road widened gradually, the forest thinning into rolling hills and stubborn clusters of cypress trees that looked as though they’d been standing guard for centuries. Gravel gave way to cracked asphalt, sunlight filtering through broken cloud cover and warming the uneven road.

Mailah broke first.

“So,” she said, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, her voice casual in the way people got right before asking something very much not casual. “When you feed… is it just whoever happens to be nearby?”

Lucson didn’t slow. Didn’t turn his head. “No.”

That was it. Just no.

Mailah rolled her eyes. “That was incredibly detailed. Thank you.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re welcome.”

She tried again. “Do you… lure people? Like—” she gestured vaguely, miming something between flirting and hypnosis, “—do the whole mysterious demon magnet thing so they admire you more and then you siphon it off?”

This time he glanced at her, expression unreadable.

“Is that what you think I was doing earlier?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean—maybe. A little. But mostly I was wondering if I should be offended on behalf of humanity.”

Lucson let out a quiet breath that might have been amusement.”Relax. I didn’t feed on the group we passed.”

Her brows knit. “You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “they didn’t have enough to offer.”

Mailah stopped walking.

Lucson took three more steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him anymore. He sighed and turned back.

“That’s… not better,” she said.

“I didn’t say it would be.”

She crossed her arms. “So you do choose.”

“Of course I choose.”

“Based on what?” she pressed. “Who’s convenient? Who’s lonely? Who’s easy?”

Lucson’s gaze sharpened—not defensive, not angry. Assessing.”I choose based on volume.”

She blinked. “Volume.”

“Admiration,” he clarified. “Depth. Density. The kind that builds over years. Influence. Power. Reputation. People who command rooms without raising their voices. People who are watched.”

“That’s horrifying,” Mailah said faintly.

“It’s efficient.”

She exhaled slowly. “So… it’s not that you care who they are.”

“No.”

The bluntness landed harder than she expected.

Lucson continued, unbothered. “I prefer large feeds. One substantial exchange rather than dozens of petty ones. It’s cleaner. Less… residue.”

“Residue,” she echoed.

“Guilt. Attachment. Complications.” He paused. “I don’t deny what I am, Mailah. I don’t pretend this is noble.”

She swallowed. Part of her had known that. Had expected it. He was a demon. Ancient. Expecting morality from him was like expecting fire not to burn.

Still.

“So you don’t care,” she said quietly.

“I care about efficiency,” he replied. “And survival.”

They resumed walking.

Mailah wasn’t sure what she felt. Disappointment, maybe. Or something like reluctant clarity. There was no pretense in him. No false tenderness.

At least Grayson tried, she thought fiercely.

She shook the thought away and glanced sideways. “Can you sense it? Admiration, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“What does it feel like?”

Lucson considered. “Light.”

She waited.

“Light that burns,” he continued. “Some people flicker. Others blaze. The brighter it is, the more dangerous it becomes—for them. And for anyone who feeds too recklessly.”

“That’s… poetic. In a mildly terrifying way.”

Her curiosity sparked despite herself. “Do emotions look the same?”

“No. Different frequencies.” He gestured vaguely, like someone describing a sound beyond language. “Fear is sharp. Anger is jagged. Love is… unstable. Grief is heavy. It drags.”

She hesitated, then asked, “What color am I?”

Lucson didn’t even look at her.

“Gray.”

She stumbled half a step. “Gray?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

He lengthened his stride.

“Lucson.”

“Keep walking.”

“No, you don’t get to drop that and just—”

“Mailah.”

Something in his tone stopped her cold. Not threat. Not anger.

Finality.

She swallowed her questions and followed.

Civilization arrived without ceremony: a low concrete gas station, a convenience store with sun-bleached signage, and a small parking lot shimmering in the heat. Two cars idled near the pumps. A motorcycle leaned against the curb, rusted and stubborn.

Signal bars bloomed across her phone like a miracle.

“Oh thank God,” she muttered.

Lucson checked his own phone, his expression tightening immediately.

“There it is,” he said. “I need to make a call.”

He nodded toward the store. “Stay here.”

She smiled sweetly. “Absolutely.”

He walked several paces away, turning his back as he lifted the phone. His voice dropped.

Mailah waited exactly three seconds before drifting closer.

She told herself it was subtle. Stealthy. That she was being clever.

She was also fully aware that Lucson could probably sense her presence down to the rhythm of her pulse.

She lingered near a vending machine, pretending to study the labels while angling herself just enough to hear.

“—not informing her,” Lucson said quietly.

Mailah froze.

“…because she would object,” he continued. “Yes. I anticipated that.”

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” he said. “I’m not asking for consensus. I’m outlining contingencies.”

A pause.

“If Grayson is compromised—”

Her fingers curled into fists.

“—then containment may be necessary.”

Containment.

Lucson exhaled slowly. “Restraining him temporarily may be unavoidable. If the bond destabilizes, she becomes a liability.”

Mailah’s vision narrowed.

“She doesn’t need to be present for that discussion,” Lucson went on. “Emotional interference complicates execution.”

Execution.

Another pause.

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m not suggesting severance. Not yet. But if his cognition is impaired—”

She stepped forward.

Her boot scraped against concrete.

Lucson turned.

Their eyes met.

The air snapped tight between them.

He ended the call without breaking eye contact.

“How much did you hear?” he asked calmly.

“Enough,” Mailah said, her voice shaking. “Enough to know you were planning my life like a boardroom strategy.”

“You eavesdropped.”

“You planned to restrain my fiancé,” she shot back. “Without telling me.”

“If necessary.”

“Without asking me.”

“You would have said no.”

“Yes,” she said. “I would have.”

“And that,” Lucson replied evenly, “is precisely the problem.”

Something in her snapped.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, stepping closer, “decide what’s best for us behind my back.”

“For you,” he corrected. “For Grayson. For everyone.”

“You don’t get to decide whether I’m a liability,” she said. “You don’t get to plan contingencies that involve locking him away like a monster.”

“He is a monster,” Lucson said softly.

Mailah’s voice trembled. “He is the man I love.”

Lucson studied her for a long moment. Then, quieter, “And that is exactly why you cannot be objective.”

She laughed—sharp, broken. “You think you are?”

“I think,” he said, stepping back, “that someone has to be willing to make choices you refuse to consider.”

She stared at him, chest heaving.

“You’re not protecting him,” she said. “You’re protecting control.”

“And you,” Lucson replied, eyes glinting, “are protecting hope.”

They stood there beneath the bright afternoon sun, the world unbearably normal around them.

Mailah lifted her chin. “If you ever plan something like that again—if you ever decide my future without me—I will walk away. I don’t care how dangerous it is.”

Lucson’s gaze sharpened. “You wouldn’t survive.”

“Then I’ll die with my choices,” she said. “Not yours.”

For a moment, something flickered across his face.

“Get what you need,” Lucson said finally, gesturing toward the store. “We leave in five minutes.”

She brushed past him without another word.

Inside, the convenience store smelled like burnt coffee, dust, and something vaguely chemical masquerading as pastry.

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright, too cheerful for the way her chest felt tight and bruised.

Mailah grabbed a bottle of water from the nearest fridge and stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, watching condensation bead along the plastic.

Her hands were shaking.

She twisted the cap open and took a long drink, grounding herself in the cold, the simple fact of swallowing.

In and out. Breathe. She leaned her hip against the counter, eyes unfocused as the clerk rang her up without comment.

Grayson would fight for her, she thought fiercely.

He always had.

And if Lucson thought he could plan a future where she didn’t get a say—where love became a variable to manage—

He was about to learn just how wrong he was.

When she stepped back outside, Lucson stood near the edge of the parking lot, phone already gone, posture rigid and closed.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak. The distance between them felt intentional, like a wall he’d decided not to breach.

Fine, she thought. Two could play that game.

She moved to the far end of the lot and sat on the low concrete barrier near the gas pumps, sipping her water and watching heat ripple across the road.

Somewhere, a car engine groaned as it pulled onto the highway.

A few minutes passed.

Then tires crunched over gravel.

Mailah looked up as a dark sedan rolled into the lot—unhurried, deliberate. It parked crookedly near the convenience store, engine idling for a beat before shutting off. The driver’s door opened.

Mason stepped out, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, expression taking in the scene with quick, practiced efficiency. His gaze flicked to Mailah, then immediately to Lucson, lingering there just long enough to clock the tension humming between them.

Then he scanned the perimeter without speaking, eyes sharp, posture alert, like he was cataloging exits and threats in the same breath.

“Well,” Mason said lightly, gesturing around at the gas station, the store, the heat-blasted stillness. “This is… quaint.”

Mailah stood.

Mason grinned at her, genuine warmth flickering through his expression.

His attention shifted to Lucson. “Where’s the car you two ditched on the road?”

Lucson answered without hesitation. “Taken care of.”

Mason raised a brow. “Taken care of how?”

“Removed,” Lucson said. “Disposed of. No trace.”

Mailah stiffened. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Lucson didn’t look at her. “It wasn’t necessary.”

Mason’s smile thinned just a fraction. He glanced between them, interest sharpening. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Lucson said flatly.

Mason exhaled a quiet laugh. “Ah. One of those situations.”

He stepped closer to Mailah, lowering his voice. “You alright?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Something about that answer made Mason’s expression soften—not pity, not concern, but recognition. “That’s usually how it goes with you, isn’t it?”

Lucson had already turned away, scanning the road again, posture closed, attention outward.

They moved quickly after that. Mason unlocked the sedan and tossed the keys once, catching them smoothly. Lucson didn’t offer to drive.

Mailah slid into the back.

The car pulled out of the lot and onto a narrow road that climbed steadily into the hills.

The scenery shifted from scrub and asphalt to cypress and stone walls, the air cooling as elevation climbed. No one spoke for several minutes. The hum of the engine filled the silence.

Mailah watched Lucson’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look back.

Mason drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes alert but calm. “He does that,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Shuts down when he decides conversation won’t go the way he wants.”

“So I noticed,” Mailah muttered.

The road narrowed into something barely deserving the name. They parked near a ridge overlooking the valley below—sunlight spilling across tiled rooftops and winding roads like molten gold. It was beautiful.

Mailah barely registered it.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep