Aidan didn't go back to Mr. Albu's house for the next three days. How did he feel about it? Absolutely pathetic.
He told himself it was because he was busy—college assignments, group projects, and studying—but deep down, he knew the truth. He was scared. Scared of what had happened, scared of Damon, and most of all, scared of going back without the ring.
Every time he thought about it, a wave of guilt crashed over him. How could he be so careless? He had made a mistake, a big one, and now he didn't know how to fix it. And so, he avoided it. He avoided the basement, the demon inside, and most importantly, Mr. Albu.
But avoiding a problem didn't make it go away.
On the third day, when Aidan returned home from college, he barely had time to breathe before he saw Mr. Albu standing in front of his house.
The old man did not look pleased.
Aidan's stomach dropped at the sight of him, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face set in a deep scowl. There was an almost dangerous kind of anger in his eyes, the kind that made Aidan instinctively hesitate before stepping forward.
"You came back early?" Aidan asked, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him.
Mr. Albu ignored the question. His glare sharpened. "You didn't follow the rules."
"I did," Aidan lied, but even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing. He swallowed hard. "Almost," he muttered under his breath.
"Are you stupid?" Mr. Albu roared, startling Aidan with the sudden outburst. His voice was thick with frustration, his hand clenching at his side. "You know what? It was my fault. I shouldn't have trusted you!"
Aidan flinched, guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest.
"Give me my ring back." Mr. Albu thrust his hand forward, palm open, fingers twitching with impatience.
Aidan stared at the outstretched hand. His heart pounded.
"I..." He stammered, his throat going dry. How was he supposed to say this?
"I lost it," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Albu stiffened. "You did what?"
"In my defense," Aidan said quickly, lifting his hands as if that would help, "it was loose. It fell off my finger. I—I don't know where. I tried looking for it! I really did. But..." His shoulders slumped. "I couldn't find it."
A long, tense silence stretched between them.
Mr. Albu rubbed his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. His fingers trembled slightly as he dragged them down, his frustration rolling off him in waves.
"Do you have any idea how difficult that was to make?" He finally gritted out, his teeth clenched so hard Aidan thought they might crack.
Aidan swallowed. "I—"
"It took me thirty years to make that ring! Damn it!"
Aidan blinked, his mind struggling to process the number. "Thirty years?"
"Yes!" Mr. Albu snapped. "Do you think just any blue stone can control a demon? That was a specially incanted stone, treated with rare herbs and potions, blessed by yogis, infused with protective spells. I traveled the world to create it!" His voice was rising with every word, his rage barely contained. "And you lost it just like that."
Aidan felt a lump form in his throat. "Mr. Albu... I—I didn't know. If I had, I would have been more careful. I'm... I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do—"
"No!" Mr. Albu cut him off, his voice cold and final. "You've done enough."
Aidan opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Mr. Albu turned on his heel, his posture stiff he stormed off. "I'll take care of it myself," he muttered as he walked away.
Aidan stood frozen in place, watching him disappear down the street.
The weight of what he had done settled heavily on his shoulders.
He had screwed up.
Badly.
Aidan felt horrible.
The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly, a constant, dull ache that never left. He kept replaying everything in his mind, going over all the ways he could have done things differently.
His days felt bland and colorless.
He moved through his routine mechanically—wake up, go to college, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. Everything felt monotonous, lifeless, like he was stuck in an endless loop. Avoiding Mr. Albu was easy. Avoiding the basement was easier. Avoiding Damon? That was a little harder.
Aidan kept his window shut at night. He didn't even glance in the direction of Mr. Albu's house, too afraid of what he might see. The thought of accidentally locking eyes with Damon. But just because he was avoiding his problems at home didn't mean he was safe from them elsewhere.
Mrs. Barik was getting worse.
Mrs Barik seemed have gotten worse. It was almost like she was using him as her personal punching bag, venting her frustration on him for no good reason.
One day, in the middle of class, one of Aidan's classmates leaned over and whispered, "Hey, what topics did we cover last class? I missed it."
Before Aidan could even open his mouth to reply, Mrs. Barik's sharp voice cut through the room.
"Aidan, get out of my class."
Aidan blinked, startled. What?
He wasn't even the one talking. He turned to his classmate, who looked just as confused as he was, but it didn't matter. The professor's eyes were already locked onto him, her lips curled into that familiar condescending smirk.
Aidan didn't bother arguing. What was the point? He had learned a long time ago that standing up to her never worked. She enjoyed the power too much.
So, he picked up his things and left.
But the final straw came when he got his first-semester results the next day.
He had submitted all his assignments on time, worked his ass off for Psychology 101, and yet—he still failed.
Failed.
His heart sank as he stared at the big, fat, red 'F' on his transcript.
It wasn't just unfair—it was infuriating.
He knew he had done well. He knew his work was good. There was no way he should have failed unless... unless someone had deliberately given him low grades.
And he had a pretty good idea who that someone was.
For the first time, Aidan decided he wouldn't just take it.
His hands were shaking when he walked up to Mrs. Barik after class. It took everything in him to push down his frustration and face her head-on.
"Mrs. Barik, I wanted to talk to you about my grades," he said, forcing his voice to stay even.
She barely even looked at him before flashing her usual patronizing smile.
"Maybe you should focus more on your studies and less on your morning coffee."
Aidan's jaw tightened.
He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.
The sheer audacity of her.
He had worked so hard. He had sacrificed sleep, poured hours into studying, and now she was sitting here, mocking him? Pretending like he was some lazy student who didn't put in the effort?
He didn't think he could hate anyone more than he hated her in that moment.
He wanted to yell, to demand answers, to make her acknowledge that she had been unfair, but he knew it wouldn't matter. She had all the power here, and she knew it.
So, he forced himself to walk away.
Aidan was still fuming when he finally left campus, his steps heavy with frustration. The entire day had been a disaster. First, he got kicked out of class for no reason, then he found out he had failed because of that miserable excuse for a professor.
And then—as if the universe wasn't done screwing him over—
He saw Mr. Albu standing outside his gate.
His breath hitched. Oh, shit.
"Mr. Albu," Aidan greeted cautiously, his voice unsure.
The older man stood in front of Aidan's gate, hands firmly planted on his hips, his face twisted in an expression that screamed frustration.
"He won't eat," Mr. Albu announced, skipping past any pleasantries.
Aidan blinked. "Huh?"
"He spoke to me today. For the first time. After three days of complete silence. Three days of refusing food. Do you know what he said when I asked him why?"
Aidan swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. "What?"
Mr. Albu let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples as if he were dealing with the most infuriating problem in existence. When he finally looked at Aidan again, it was with an expression of absolute blame.
"He said, 'I want the boy.'"
Aidan's breath hitched. His heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.
His mind scrambled to process what he had just heard. What? His? His mind rejected the idea immediately. No, that couldn't be right.
"Is he talking about me?" Aidan asked, his voice higher than usual, almost hopeful that he had misunderstood.
Mr. Albu gave him a flat, unimpressed look. "Who else?"
Aidan's stomach twisted.
"Oh."
A small part of him—a very stupid part—was intrigued. He wanted me? But the more rational, self-preserving part of him was utterly, bone-deep terrified.
What the hell did that even mean?
Before he could spiral any further, Mr. Albu turned on his heel. "Come inside."
***
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