Page 35 of The Devil's Canvas

I clench my fists, my stomach twisting. "That’s—no. That’s not fair."

Julian draws in a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair, and for the first time, I see something beneath the amusement—frustration.

That throws me, I can’t explain why, but it hurts far more than I’m ever going to admit.

"But it’s fate," he continues. "And fate doesn’t care what we want."

I let out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "I don’t believe in fate."

Julian raises an eyebrow, tilting his head like I’ve just said something that doesn’t make sense. "You will."

I shake my head, the weight of all this pressing in. "No, fate is just an excuse people use when things don’t go their way. It’s a crutch. A way to pretend we don’t make our own choices."

He exhales, slow and measured, rubbing his fingers together like he’s considering his next words carefully. He looks at me, gaze unwavering. "That’s cute."

I bristle. "It’s not cute. It’s reality."

"No, sweetheart. Reality is this—" He steps closer, and the second he does, I feel it again—that pull, that static crawling over my skin like invisible threads tightening.

I don’t want to react, but my body betrays me.

"That’s reality," he says, watching me shiver. "No matter how much you fight it."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat feels tight, my thoughts a tangled mess of denial and something dangerously close to belief.

For the first time, I ask the question I should have from the start. "What... what are you?"

His gaze sharpens, gold flecks catching the dim light.

I shake my head. "No, seriously. You’re reading my mind, you’re talking about fate like it’s written in stone, and I—" My breath stutters. "You’re not... normal, are you?"

Julian chuckles, slow and dark. "Haven’t figured it out yet?"

I don’t respond. I can’t.

He tilts his head, watching me like he’s waiting for the realization to click into place. Finally, he gives me the truth. Smooth. Simple. Unshaken.

"I’m a demon."

Something inside me goes ice-cold. My stomach drops, my skin tightens, and suddenly, it’s like I can feel my own pulse too loud in my ears. I stare at him, but he doesn’t waver.

No laugh, no smirk. Just fact.

"No," I say, firmer this time. "You’re lying. Or worse—you’re telling the truth, and you think that matters to me."

"I already told you—I don’t lie."

"So now what?" I ask.

For the first time since this started, he hesitates. Just a flicker of something in his expression, gone in an instant, but I catch it. I bite back a smirk. Good. I got something over him.

"What do you mean?" Julian asks, recovering quickly. "You don’t seem scared."

"Scared?" I scoff. "Please. You’d have to be scarier than this."

His eyes flicker with interest. "What do you feel?"

I exhale sharply, frustration curling around my ribs. "I can’t tell you."

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