Serena tried to throw the photo away.
She really did.
But something stopped her. Maybe it was fear. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe some part of her knew — deep down — that the man in the image wasn't going to let her ignore him.
And he didn't.
That night, her dream returned.
Same hallway. Same mirror.
Only this time, she wasn't alone when she entered.
He stood next to her.
Close. Too close.
His face was still blurred, like smoke that wouldn't hold shape. But his voice—
Smooth. Deep. Amused.
"You're bolder than most."
Serena turned to him, heart racing. "Who are you?"
"Someone who answered when you begged to come back."
She blinked. "I never—"
"Oh, but you did." He grinned. "On your deathbed, crying and screaming in your head. 'Let me fix it. Let me fix everything. I'll do anything.' Remember that?"
Her breath caught.
She had begged. But she never thought… never imagined something had heard her.
"Why now? Why are you here?"
"You broke the rules, Serena. You changed things that weren't yours to touch." He leaned in, and though his face remained shadowed, she could feel him smiling. "But don't worry. I'm not angry."
"You're not?"
"I'm intrigued."
Then, he disappeared — and she woke up.
This time, the dream left a mark.
A single black feather rested on her pillow.
She kept the feather in a drawer, telling herself it was some weird coincidence. That her subconscious was playing tricks.
But over the next few days, signs of him kept returning.
In reflections, she'd see movement behind her — only to turn and find nothing.
In crowds, she'd feel someone brush her shoulder — but no one would be there.
And then there was the bookstore.
Serena had gone in to buy a planner. It was empty when she entered. Silent. A little too cold, despite the sun outside.
She turned down an aisle, and there he was.
Leaning casually against a shelf.
Tall. Dressed in black. His face clearer now — sharp jaw, tousled dark hair, golden eyes that shimmered like firelight.
Devastatingly handsome. Dangerously confident.
"Missed me?" he asked.
Serena's heart did a strange skip.
"You're real."
He smirked. "Of course I am."
"What do you want?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer. He smelled like smoke and rain and something wild.
"You fascinate me, Serena. You got a second chance — rare enough. But instead of living humbly, you're rewriting destiny. Plotting. Twisting. You're playing with fire."
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"You didn't have to," he said, amused. "I'm here to make sure you understand what this game really is."
She narrowed her eyes. "And what is it?"
His voice dropped. "Every change you make has a cost. Every revenge you seek shifts the balance. You're not just hurting Clara. You're unraveling threads you can't see."
"Then take me back," she snapped. "Undo it."
He laughed. "Oh no, sweetheart. You begged to come back. You accepted the price. The game is on. I'm just here to watch… and maybe," he added, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, "to make things more interesting."
Serena shivered.
"I don't trust you," she whispered.
"Good," he said, eyes gleaming. "That means you're smart."
He vanished between one blink and the next.
And in his place, resting on the shelf, was a black envelope. Inside was a note:
"Let's see who wins. — Ellion"