She wasn't really running anymore.

  Her body moved, sure. But inside? Her skin felt wrong, like it didn't fit anymore. Her thoughts were shards of glass, splintered and frantic and impossible to hold without bleeding. The monastery swallowed her like a mouthful of nothing, and only the echo of her footsteps remained. And even that didn't sound like her anymore.

  To just get out. That was the only thought that made sense to her.

  The corridors stretched longer than they should've, warped by shadow and moonlight slashed through stained glass. The light painted broken stories across the floor. The air was cold, but not on the skin. The kind of cold that pressed into your bones and whispered: You're alone.

  She didn't know where she was going. So she went where it felt the most hollow, where logically a ghost vision demon voice wouldn't follow. The chapel.

  She could've sworn the place breathed heavy when she stepped inside. Smoke clung to the arches with old incense, wax, the kind of silence that felt like it had been holding its air in for too long. The flames of the candles trembled in their holders, shadows crawling across the stone like forgotten prayers.

  And then there was him.

  Maliel was kneeling like a statue carved from something long dead. Hands folded and head bowed he looked like he belonged in a book that had been buried, a relic from a prophecy no one believed in anymore. His wings were torn out but Lia could almost see them. The Ghost keloid scars stitched into his back. If you looked long enough, you might swear they were still there.

  She walked forward and dropped onto the bottom step of the altar. Her back curved, her fingers laced tight like she was holding herself together. The cold of the stone crept through her jeans, but she didn't move. Maybe because this was the warmest place she'd been in days.

  She waited. And then she whispered, raw and quiet:

  "What the hell do you all even want from me?"

  It wasn't really for him. But it wasn't not for him, either.

  Maliel didn't move. Still a damn statue. But she felt it his awareness. The weight of being seen without being spoken to.

  And for a second that was enough. She didn't know how long they sat there. Maybe a lifetime. Maybe just long enough for her heartbeat to stop sounding like a freaking war drum. Then he rose. "Careful who you curse in front of."

  The motion was silent, unnerving. Like he wasn't following the same physics as the rest of the world. He turned toward her, and she met his eyes. They didn't catch the light, they swallowed it whole. And there was something else buried there. Something she couldn't name. Something that looked a lot like loss.

  "How'd you fall?" she asked.

  It wasn't an accusation. Not pity, either. Just a crack in her voice that slipped out before she could tape it shut.

  He looked at her for a long time, almost surprised: "I was right. Just at the wrong time."

  He said it like that was punishment enough. A sentence heavier than most people's whole lives.

  Lia still looked down. Felt the words curl in her chest like smoke, familiar and foreign all at once. Maybe that's what connected them. They'd both done things that weren't wrong but weren't exactly forgivable either.

  "And now?" she asked. "What are you now?"

  He took a step toward her, like someone who'd spent a long time learning how to not get too close.

  "Now I'm what's left."

  His voice was quiet, Almost gentle in a way. Which, honestly, made it worse.

  "You're not like the others here," he said.

  "I don't even know what I am," Lia muttered.

  He held out his hand: ?there is worse."

  She didn't know why but she took it and stood up.

  They walked into the night without a word. Gravel crunched beneath their boots, leaves rustled like secrets they'd never get to hear. The woods opened up around them, watching. Not chasing.

  The path was narrow, barely there. it seemed like it existed for people who didn't want to be found. At the edge of the monastery's reach, where shadow bled into the forest, stood a single building. Half lost in the dark.

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  It looked like a memory that refused to fade. Like something suspended between now and never.

  Maliel opened the door and let her pass.

  The loft was stripped-down with no flair or comfort. Just rough wood and stone walls, like the place had been built to keep things out, or maybe in. Weapons lined the shelves. blades, relics, shit that looked like it had survived wars no one wrote down. The windows stretched across the far wall, giving them a front row seat to the ocean crashing below.

  "Quiet here," she noted.

  "Quiet's relative," he murmured. "I can hear myself think too loud."

  She dropped onto one of the floor cushions, knees pulled in, arms wrapped tight.

  Maliel didn't move. Still and silent. Like a shadow pinned in place.

  "So... this your actual place?" she asked. "Or just your personal murder dungeon?"

  "If so, I'm the victim."

  "Comforting. I'm not into needles and confessionals."

  She could've sworn that his voice cracked barely with the ghost of a laugh. And then nothing.

  "At training today..." she started, let the words hang a moment, "you were almost nice."

  "I was efficient."

  "You patted Riven's head after he almost cried."

  "Reflex."

  "Cute." She looked at him. "You won't admit it, but you've got a heart."

  He said nothing. Just stared into the dark. But she caught it. that twitch at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Almost human.

  "So?" She leaned back, palms on the floor behind her. "What's your tragic little backstory?"

  He turned to her calmly.

  "I refused to betray someone."

  "Loyalty," she said. " old-school."

  "Loyalty's dangerous. You lose everything for it."

  "I never had much. Losing's cheap when you start off empty."

  His lips twitched again, this time it was more obvious "That's why you're hard to break."

  "I'm not hard to break." She met his gaze, blunt. "I just don't let anyone try."

  Eventually, he sat. Not right next to her. But close enough she didn't have to turn her neck to see him. Still coiled, like even resting was something he had to earn.

  "You don't just read people," he said. "You cut through them."

  "Habit," she shrugged. "Or survival. Or boredom. Take your pick."

  "You're curious."

  "You're less boring than you pretend to be." She grinned, just a little. "Back in the yard. I saw you fix that kid's cloak after he fell. No one else noticed. But I did."

  He looked like he was debating whether that was a trap.

  "That meant nothing."

  "That meant a lot."

  A look passed between them. Then silence.

  Outside, the ocean smashed itself against stone like it had a grudge.

  She tilted her head. "Don't think this means I'm impressed."

  "Doesn't matter." He replied instantly.

  She leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling, rough planks, old nails, like no one even tried to hide how broken this place was. Like it knew.

  "Did you change?" she asked suddenly. "Since I fell?"

  "Yeah."

  He paused. Then said, "Not enough."

  She wasn’t sure if this was the answer she wanted to hear. But she was also afraid, if there was another one, so she stood up:

  "I should go. Before the forest starts thinking I belong to you."

  "It doesn't."

  She laughed. "Now I'm offended."

  At the door, she paused.

  "You should get a plant. Or a hellhound. Spice things up."

  "I had one. It smelled you and ran."

  She turned, grinning. "Smart dog."

  The way he looked at her was almost warm now: "Night, Lia."

  She was almost at the gate, almost at the line where she could put the mask back on and pretend the night hadn't clawed something loose in her. Almost the version of herself that didn't stop, didn't ask, didn't feel. And then there was that light.

  At first just a flicker, barely there, gold leaking through bare branches like something breathing slow and quiet in its sleep. It pulled at her, soft and stupid, and before she could even grab hold of the thought that she should keep walking, that there was nothing there for her, no reason, no right but she'd already turned.

  The light and the soft music came from another loft.

  It sounded like things you weren't supposed to say out loud. Like glasses that didn't break because no one dared throw them. Like someone else's moment.

  She stopped, half-shadowed by trees, caught between the dark and herself, staring at the shape of a world she didn't belong to and never dared to imagine she could.

  Ezra now stepped into the glow, and with him came a quiet that wasn't peace. It was pressure. Focus. Sharp as a blade against her chest.

  His torso bare, the light caught every cut and line on his body like someone had carved poetry in muscle. One hand held a drink and he moved casually But she knew better. Ezra didn't do unintentional. He was a weapon pretending to be bored. Every move, every glance was calculated chaos.

  And then came her. A woman.

  First just a flicker behind the glass. And when she stepped into the room, it was like the space recognized her. Like she wasn't a guest, but gravity.

  Damn Beautiful but not the delicate kind. The kind of beauty that asked questions with no answers, that forced you to look and keep looking even though you knew it would cost you something. Everything about her said I know who I am. And it was clear Ezra knew it too.

  He looked at her like she was a secret he'd stopped trying to solve because he already owned it.

  And then hus hand at her neck. The pull. The kiss. Deep. Possessive. Familiar.

  Like the world paused to watch it.

  Something twisted in Lia's chest. Not big. Not loud. But sharp. Real.

  She didn't even know what the sudden pang in her chest was— Jealousy?Curiosity? Annoyance?

  Wounded ego? Whatever. It burned anyway.

  "It's nothing," she whispered.

  But even her own voice called bullshit. Still, she couldn't look away.

  The scene inside was too complete. She stood there paralyzed, feelings of shame with dirt under her boots, wind in her hoodie, stuck in the cold with her heart wedged somewhere between her ribs and her spine.

  That soft, stupid, real smile Ezra gave the woman not the crooked, mocking grin he wore around Lia.

  And something inside her cracked, so quietly it was almost beautiful.

  If it hadn't felt so damn loud.

  She clenched her fists. Felt her nails bite into skin.

  What the hell had she expected? She didn't know what she wanted to see in that room. Maybe... no, screw that. It didn't matter. Nothing. And not this.

  "Whatever," she muttered, jaw tight, voice low enough the trees could pretend not to hear.

  Her body moved before her brain could catch up.

  The forest swallowed her back up.

  The wind clawed at her hoodie like it wanted to drag her down.

  And she ran back, like she could outrun whatever the hell had just woken up inside her before it figured out what it wanted. Angry at herself.