The next weekend, Haera finds herself drawn to the old greenhouse behind the art wing — a forgotten part of the school grounds no one seems to use. Moss curls over the handles. The lock is rusted, but when she touches it, it clicks open like it's been waiting.
Inside, vines stretch across broken tiles and wild flowers bloom in untamed rebellion. But in the center of the room stands something impossible — a velvet armchair. Deep crimson. Immaculate. Dustless.
And lying on it — another letter.
"You used to love this place. So I waited."
Her heart stutters.
Before she can react, Cairos steps into the light filtering through the glass ceiling. His gaze holds hers, and for once, he looks unsure. "You came."
"I don't remember this," she whispers.
"But your soul does."
He sits. She doesn't move.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet," he says softly. "There's a pattern. Cycles. We meet. We remember. We lose. But this time it's… early."
"Why me?" she asks.
"Because I broke the rules first."
She sits across from him on the floor, knees drawn to her chest. "What happens now?"
He stares through the vines.
"Now we figure out who's trying to erase you before the memories root too deep."
The greenhouse door slams behind them. But no wind blew.
They are no longer alone.