The house was dim and quiet, bathed in early night. A few lanterns flickered faintly against the wooden walls, casting long shadows in the corners. Inside, Oliver sat alone in the small guest room, hunched on the edge of the bed, his brows furrowed, hands locked together.
He couldn't make sense of it.
One minute, he'd been chained beneath that place—forgotten, broken. And the next, he was free. Released. But by what? Or who? He didn't remember unlocking anything. Just… a sound, a cold rush of air, the walls breaking and he awoke. The memory was clouded, distorted.
What bothered him more was the silence around it. No explanation. No answers. Just freedom wrapped in confusion.
Meanwhile, Elena had freshened up, washing away the dust and blood that clung to her like bad memories. She changed into a loose, worn-out hoodie she found in one of the drawers. It swallowed her frame, making her look smaller, hidden. That was the point.
She stepped outside.
The air was cool and gentle. A few stars had blinked into the sky, barely visible through the faint mist above the trees. The wind smelled of pine and river water. She breathed it in slowly, like it could somehow calm the storm inside her chest.
Sean sat on the edge of the porch again, in the same spot. He didn't seem surprised when she came to sit beside him. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then her voice broke the silence, low and trembling.
"I'm sorry. For earlier. I just… I keep messing things up."
Sean didn't answer. He just looked at her, waiting.
She wiped her palms against her knees. "I wanted to tell him… the guy. I wanted to tell him I'm a girl. I almost did. I was standing in the hallway, thinking I would just walk in and say it. But then I thought—what if it ruins everything?"
Her eyes flicked up at Sean. "He thinks I'm a guy. And maybe that's good. Maybe that's what I need to be right now."
He didn't interrupt. Just listened, steady and silent.
She went on. "They've seen me, Sean. The Alchemys. They've seen my face. They've marked it. I've escaped twice—barely. And I just… I know they'll come for me again. And next time… I don't think I'll get away."
Her voice cracked at the end. She looked away quickly, blinking fast.
"I met my father," she whispered.
Sean's head turned, sharp and sudden.
"He's dead," she said. "I met him, in pains and then he died in front of me. He was killed."
Her voice broke again. Her hands were shaking now.
"And my mom… I don't even know if she's alive. Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. But I'm all that's left now, Sean. And if I die too… then what's the point of everything they did? What's the point of surviving if I don't stay survived?"
Sean placed a hand gently on her back, steadying her as she bent forward, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I'm tired," she murmured. "Tired of running, tired of hiding in corners, tired of lying. But I'll do it. I'll become whoever I need to be to make it out of this."
Then she looked at him, tears on her cheeks. "I was thinking… maybe I could cut my hair. Just a little. Make it easier. Look more like a boy. Maybe I can vanish into the crowd that way."
Sean nodded slowly.
"If that's what you want," he said softly, "I'll help you."
She looked at him, her lips trembling. "Really?"
"I'll be there for whatever you decide. You don't have to do this alone."
Inside the house, the warm lantern light glowed again. Sean followed Elena into her room, where she handed him a pair of dull scissors she had found in a drawer. She sat on a stool in front of him and pulled the hoodie down slightly to reveal her thick, wavy hair.
"Just… not too short," she whispered. "But enough."
He nodded.
The first snip was slow, gentle. A strand fell to the ground. Then another. And another. Sean was careful—careful like he was tending to something sacred.
She closed her eyes.
With each cut, it felt like something else was falling away too. Fear. Sadness. Old pieces of who she used to be.
By the time he was done, her hair was shorter, messier—but her face, though tired, held a strange new peace.
She opened her eyes.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Sean gave her a small smile. "You still look like you."
"Good," she whispered. "Maybe that's enough."
And for the first time that night, she felt just a little less
The Next Morning
The clatter of laughter and glass filled the warm air of the café. The popular scent of freshly brewed herbs and spiced drinks floated through the open windows as customers packed the wooden tables, conversations overlapping in a pleasant buzz. Lanterns dangled from the ceiling with their soft glow adding to the golden warmth of nature filled in the place.
Lily moved swiftly behind the counter, her movements practiced and fluid. In her early thirties, she wore her auburn hair tied up high, an apron tied snug around her slim waist. She was the pulse of the place—known by everyone, trusted by most.
Then she saw him.
Lucien.
He walked in with the kind of quietness that made people look without realizing. He didn't speak. Didn't ask. He simply walked over to an empty table near the center of the room and sat—like he knew she would come to him.
And she did.
In a moment, Lily dried her hands, grabbed a dark bottle from beneath the counter, and walked to his table. Her heels clicked sharply against the wood floor until she stopped in front of him and placed the drink down without a word.
"You barely come here," she said evenly, arms folded across her chest.
Lucien looked up at her with a faint smirk. "True."
"This is only your second time," she added.
He gave a nod, slow. "You're not wrong."
Lily's voice lowered a shade. "Which means… you've got a message."
Lucien gestured to the seat opposite him. "Sit."
She hesitated—just a second. Then pulled out the chair and sat, her expression guarded.
"I want you to find someone," Lucien said plainly.
Lily blinked, intrigued. "You know I've got eyes all over this city," she replied. "If they breathe within the walls of these streets, I can find them."
Lucien leaned back, watching her.
"So?" she asked. "Who is it?"
But he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he poured himself a drink, took a slow sip, then said, "Oliver is on the loose."
The name struck her like a whip.
Lily froze.
Her hand, which had just reached for the bottle, trembled slightly. She lowered it. "What?"
"He escaped," Lucien said. "We don't know how. One moment he was locked up tight, and the next—gone. Completely vanished."
Lily's eyes widened. The color drained from her face. "No…"
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "I see that name still scares you."
Lily stood suddenly, her voice low and panicked. "If he's free—if Oliver is out—then I'm dead."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
"I betrayed him," she said, almost whispering. "I was the one who handed him over to the Alchemys. I spiked his drink. He trusted me—and I gave him up."
Lucien was silent.