the radio demon's little sister (vox x reader)

Vincent

Hell has a way of remembering you wrong.

Or maybe it remembers you exactly as you were, just sharper, louder, more unforgiving.

Either way, I knew I was going to run into him eventually.

I just didn't think it would be like this.

The neon glow hit me first, flickering across the pavement in electric blues and violent pinks, buzzing like it had something to prove. I stopped walking without meaning to, my heel clicking once against the concrete before the rest of me followed. The air felt different here, charged, like every screen and wire was watching.

Of course it was.

This was his territory.

I tilted my head up slightly, eyes narrowing at the towering screens stacked along the buildings, all looping advertisements, grinning logos, and flashing symbols that screamed one name without ever needing to say it out loud.

Vox

Vincent Whittman.

My ex husband.

My mistake.

A flicker of static crackled somewhere above me, and I felt it before I heard it, that familiar, irritating presence sliding under my skin like a splinter I couldn't dig out.

"Well, well," his voice echoed, smooth and synthetic, dripping with amusement, "if it isn't my favorite blast from the past."

I didn't look up right away. I let him sit in it, in the silence, in the lack of reaction. He always hated that.

Slowly, I crossed my arms and finally raised my gaze.

There he was, stretched across a massive screen, all sharp lines and glowing eyes, his smile too wide to be anything but artificial. He looked different from when we were alive, of course he did, but the essence was the same.

Ambition. Ego. Control.

"Still talking to yourself on screens, Vincent?" I said flatly. "Or do you actually have an audience now."

His grin sharpened. "Oh, sweetheart, I have millions. You should try it sometime, though I suppose radio waves are more your family's speed."

That did it.

My jaw tightened before I could stop it.

"Don't," I said quietly.

He leaned closer to the screen, static rippling at the edges of his form. "Don't what?"

"Bring him into this."

The air shifted.

Not because of Vox.

Because of the other name sitting between us like a loaded gun.

Alastor

My twin brother.

The Radio Demon.

The person I would rather burn twice than agree with once.

Vox laughed, the sound glitching slightly, like even Hell couldn't fully stabilize his ego. "Oh please. You mean dear old Alastor isn't already living rent free in that head of yours? He always did have a talent for that."

I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my expression back into something neutral, something controlled. Losing my temper with him was exactly what he wanted.

It always had been.

"You always did love hearing yourself talk," I replied. "Some things never change."