The cellar of the boarding house smelled of dust, whiskey, and old regrets.
Lila had never been invited down here before...not in this version of 1927, anyway. But Vincent had left a note slipped under her door at dawn: "Come at dusk. Don't tell Theo."
No signature. Just a lion sketched in charcoal at the bottom corner, its mouth open in a silent roar.
She recognized the symbol. His ring.
Lila hesitated at the foot of the cellar stairs, one hand wrapped around her sketchbook. The other hovered near the small satchel of ink she'd begun to carry like a weapon.
The steps creaked beneath her weight.
At the bottom, Vincent stood beside a low-burning oil lamp. His back was to her, shoulders stiff. The flame lit half his face when he finally turned....a face both familiar and changed.
In this time, Vincent looked younger. Sharper. Less ruined by drink, but more haunted. His hair, neatly combed, had a few silver streaks at the temples he shouldn't yet have. His eyes held the tension of a man constantly bracing for impact.
"Close the door behind you," he said, voice low.
Lila obeyed. The air thickened instantly, silence weighing heavier in the enclosed space.
He nodded at a crate. "Sit."
She did.
Vincent didn't look at her right away. He unbuttoned his waistcoat, moving stiffly, as if every motion cost him something. A clink of metal echoed as he removed the lion's-head ring and placed it carefully on the table between them.
The moment it touched wood, the air shifted. Slightly warmer. Charged.
Lila swallowed. "What is this place?"
"Old wine cellar. I repurposed it." He gestured vaguely at the walls, where faded sheet music, torn photographs, and half-burnt contracts were pinned like crimes. "It's the only place in this city where he doesn't watch."
"You mean Peregrine."
Vincent gave a humorless chuckle. "Is that the name he's using now? Charming."
He sat across from her, his hands trembling slightly as he opened a battered folio. Inside, yellowing parchment glowed faintly even in the lamplight.
Her heart leapt. "Is that…?"
"My contract," he said, sliding it toward her. "Signed in 1909. Sealed with something I didn't understand until it was too late."
Lila hesitated, then reached out. Her fingers brushed the paper.
It thrummed like a heart.
The ink was faded but alive, moving like veins beneath skin. The terms were written in looping, archaic script—too elegant for their cruelty.
"In exchange for clarity of mind and the absolution of vice, the bearer shall surrender the memory of pain, of consequence, and of guilt."
She blinked. "That's… twisted."
"It was freedom," Vincent said quietly. "At least, I thought it was. I wanted to protect Theo. I thought if I could be strong, focused, clean, I could guide him away from what ruined me. But the more guilt I lost… the more I forgot why I cared in the first place."
He leaned back, eyes distant. "When Theo signed his deal, I didn't even remember what I'd tried to save him from."
"Why show me this now?" Lila whispered. "Why trust me?"
He studied her. "Because you remember what I don't. Because you came back."
"I didn't mean to," she said, voice cracking. "I burned the contract. I reversed the song. I was supposed to....I don't know what I was supposed to do."
Vincent leaned forward. "You did something no one ever has. You cracked the loop. But time doesn't like being changed. Now it's punishing you. Us."
He tapped the ring. "This heats up whenever he's close. Lately, it never cools."
Lila frowned. "Why do you still wear it?"
"Because it's the only thing he gave me that still tells the truth."
A long pause.
"Vincent…" she said carefully, "Do you remember the crib?"
He froze.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then: "Yes."
She stared at him. "You do?"
"Not always. Just in flashes. I'll walk past an empty room and hear crying. I'll see a basin and smell lavender and blood. Then it's gone."
He exhaled. "I think that's where it all started. The first deal. Not mine. Not Theo's."
He turned away, voice barely audible. "Ours."
Lila's stomach twisted.
"You had a sister," she said slowly.
Vincent nodded. "Stillborn. Mother never spoke of her. But I… I see her sometimes. Not as a baby. As something older. Trapped between time. Like you."
Lila's throat tightened. "That room.....the one with the black crib. It was never just a nursery. It was a shrine."
He nodded.
Then, abruptly, he stood, pacing.
"I'm losing more of myself every day. The contract promised I'd be sober, lucid. But there's a cost. My soul's bleeding out in pieces. Memories, regrets, love. I watch Theo spiral and I feel… nothing. Not even rage. Just emptiness."
He turned to her.
"But when you're near, I remember."
Their eyes met.
"I remember the piano. I remember how he used to laugh when it rained. I remember… I was proud of him. Before the Collector hollowed him out."
He walked to the table again, picked up the contract, and held it over the flame.
"Vincent....!"
"I won't let him have my brother," he said fiercely. "Not again. If this costs me everything, so be it."
But as the edge caught fire, a surge of wind blew through the cellar. The lamp flickered violently. The flame went out.
The paper remained.....untouched.
Lila stepped forward, heart racing.
"It's sealed," she whispered. "It won't burn unless the Collector lets it."
Vincent's face hardened. "Then I'll find another way."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver blade. It gleamed faintly in the lamplight.
Lila's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"
"Blood can open what ink cannot." He held out his palm, made a shallow cut, and let the blood drip onto the contract.
At first, nothing.
Then......
The contract screamed.
Not aloud. But in a frequency that made their ears ring, their teeth ache, their hearts pound.
The parchment writhed, ink bleeding outward into unfamiliar shapes...glyphs that hadn't been there before. It curled in on itself like a dying insect, then went still.
A symbol now marked its center.
An ouroboros.
Lila gasped. "The same symbol from the mirror."
Vincent looked up. "It's not just a contract anymore. It's a key."
"A key to what?"
"To wherever he's hiding what's left of us."
They stared at each other in the silence that followed.
"I'll help you," he said. "Whatever comes next. I'll help you end this."
Her voice shook. "Even if we don't survive?"
Vincent's eyes were clear for the first time in years.
"Especially then."
As they climbed out of the cellar, the lamp flickered back to life behind them.
In the dying light, the contract twitched once.
And smiled.....