The first stroke of red hit the canvas like a wound.
Isabelle Carter didn’t bother with sketches this time.
No careful outlines.
No delicate planning.
Just raw emotion.
Her brush cut across the blank surface with sharp, furious movements. Crimson, black, and deep shades of blue blended into violent spirals of color. The smell of paint filled Apartment 307 as the city lights flickered outside the window.
Behind her, Adrian stood silently.
Watching.
He had moved closer to the window, his translucent form faintly glowing against the night skyline. The flickering streetlights shone through him like pale gold dust.
For several minutes, the only sound in the apartment was the rough scratch of Isabelle’s brush.
Anger fueled every motion.
Anger at Dylan.
Anger at the lies.
Anger at the fact that her life had apparently become a supernatural battlefield overnight.
“You’re attacking the canvas,” Adrian observed quietly.
Isabelle didn’t stop painting.
“That’s the point.”
The brush slammed into the paint again.
Adrian tilted his head slightly.
“Artists usually aim for beauty.”
“Tonight I’m aiming for revenge.”
That made the corner of his mouth twitch.
“You’re surprisingly terrifying when motivated.”
“Good.”
She stepped back from the canvas briefly, studying the chaotic swirl of color forming across it.
The painting was nothing like her usual work.
Her normal style leaned toward soft realism—quiet city streets, lonely skylines, subtle emotion hidden in details.
But this?
This was pure storm.
Rage poured into every line.
“Does it feel different?” she asked suddenly.
Adrian’s expression shifted.
He stepped closer to the canvas.
The faint silver light around his body flickered slightly.
“Yes.”
Her heart skipped.
“Really?”
“The energy around the painting is… stronger.”
He lifted a translucent hand toward the canvas, hovering inches from the surface.
The air around his fingers shimmered faintly.
“Your emotions are binding to it.”
Isabelle stared.
“So the whole ‘art saves ghosts’ thing might actually work?”
“Possibly.”
Adrian’s voice softened.
“Your anger is quite powerful.”
“Well that’s comforting.”
She dipped the brush into black paint.
“Because I’ve got plenty of it.”
The brush moved again.
Faster now.
Shapes began forming within the chaos.
A city skyline.
But distorted.
Buildings twisting upward like shadows reaching for the sky.
And in the center—
A tall figure made of darkness.
Isabelle froze mid-stroke.
Her heart thudded.
She hadn’t planned that.
Adrian noticed it too.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That is him.”
Isabelle swallowed.
“Yeah.”
The silhouette looked eerily like Dylan.
Tall.
Sharp.
Predatory.
Something cold crawled down her spine.
“I didn’t mean to paint him.”
“Your mind did.”
Adrian studied the painting quietly.
“Emotion reveals truth.”
“Great.”
She tossed the brush onto the table.
“So now my subconscious is helping me illustrate the nightmare.”
Adrian stepped closer to the canvas.
His presence made the air feel colder.
But also strangely calm.
“You are processing betrayal.”
“Yeah.”
She leaned against the table, arms crossed.
“That tends to happen when your boyfriend turns out to be a soul-eating demon.”
A pause.
“Devourer,” Adrian corrected.
“Whatever.”
Her gaze softened slightly.
“You okay?”
Adrian blinked.
“You were almost erased twenty minutes ago.”
He seemed surprised by the question.
“I will endure.”
“That’s not the same as being okay.”
He didn’t answer.
Isabelle sighed.
“You’re terrible at emotional conversations.”
“I lived in 1923.”
“Fair point.”
Silence lingered.
Then Adrian’s gaze shifted back to the painting.
The silver glow around him pulsed faintly.
“Something is happening.”
Isabelle straightened immediately.
“What?”
“The painting.”
She stepped closer.
At first she didn’t see anything.
Then—
The air above the canvas shimmered.
Like heat rising from pavement.
Adrian exhaled slowly.
“The anchor is responding.”
Her pulse raced.
“So it’s working?”
“Yes.”
A wave of relief washed through her chest.
“Thank God.”
Adrian turned toward her.
His gray eyes softened.
“You saved me.”
She snorted.
“I splattered paint.”
“You poured your soul into it.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice made her look away.
“Don’t get poetic about it.”
“Too late.”
He was still smiling faintly.
Then—
The lights flickered.
Both of them froze.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped.
“Please tell me that’s normal ghost stuff.”
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“No.”
The lamp blinked again.
The temperature in the apartment plummeted.
Cold air slid across Isabelle’s skin like icy fingers.
Her pulse spiked.
“He’s back.”
The words left Adrian’s mouth in a whisper.
The front door handle twisted slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then the door creaked open.
Dylan stepped inside.
Casual.
Relaxed.