The rain came down in angry sheets that night.
Arinya sat in the back of Jareth's black Range Rover, her fingers clenched into the fabric of her soaked jeans, heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape the walls of her chest. She didn't dare look at him. Not after what she had just heard from that strange man in the alley—the one who had whispered her real name like it was a death sentence.
"You were never supposed to survive that fire, girl."
Those words gnawed at her thoughts like teeth. She had barely managed to get away, only to find Jareth already waiting by the car, his expression unreadable, drenched in shadow and rain.
He hadn't asked her what happened. He didn't demand answers. Instead, he'd simply opened the car door and said, "Get in."
But silence wasn't safety—not with a man like Jareth.
She stared at the wipers slashing across the windshield. "I need answers."
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "So do I."
They drove in tense quiet, until the SUV rolled to a stop in front of a tall, gated mansion—one Arinya had never seen before. It wasn't the sleek apartment where she'd once found his secret room, nor was it listed under any of his names.
Her blood chilled. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe," he said flatly. "At least safer than where you were headed."
She hesitated, torn between running and trusting. But when Jareth opened the passenger door and held out his hand, she followed him.
The house was stone and glass, surrounded by dense forest. Inside, it smelled of cedar, leather, and something darkly familiar—him.
He turned to her as the door shut behind them. "Take a shower. There's a room upstairs. Dry off. Then we talk."
Talk. That word felt like an invitation and a threat.
---
Later That Night…
Arinya stood wrapped in a towel, staring at the full-length mirror in the guest suite. Steam clung to the glass like a curtain, but through it, she could see the faded scar on her collarbone—the one she'd had for as long as she could remember. A symbol of something ancient. Something cursed.
Downstairs, the fire crackled.
She found him sitting in front of it, two glasses of whiskey untouched on the table. He didn't look up as she stepped closer, now wearing one of his shirts that swallowed her whole.
He finally said, "You want the truth? It will ruin everything you think you know."
Her throat tightened. "I'm already ruined. Give me the truth."
He glanced over, something haunted in his eyes. "Your name isn't just a name, Arinya. It's a key. Your existence is a threat to powerful people."
She sat. "You've said that before. But you keep leaving out what it means."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "That fire that killed your family wasn't an accident. It was ordered. Because your bloodline carries something... forbidden."
Her breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
"Your father—he wasn't just a scientist. He was a genetic architect. He created something the government classified as... a myth. Something buried."
"Are you saying I'm a science experiment?" she snapped, rising.
"No," he growled, standing too. "I'm saying you were born with a code that could destroy nations—or heal them. And too many men want control over it."
Her knees buckled. "That's insane."
"Is it?" He took a step forward. "Have you ever wondered why you survived when no one else did? Why you've always had dreams of fire... but no memory of the fire itself?"
He was right. The trauma had always felt planted, not lived.
He continued, quieter now. "I was hired to find you, Arinya. Years ago. Before I knew who you really were. Before I knew what I'd feel."
Her stomach twisted. "You were hired to kill me."
"No. To deliver you."
She stared at him. "And why didn't you?"
His voice broke. "Because I saw you smile."
That one sentence shattered the room.
She turned away. Her heart wanted to trust him. Her brain screamed to run.
But just as she opened her mouth to respond—a bullet shattered the window behind her.
---
The Attack
Glass exploded. Jareth dove forward, pulling Arinya down as gunfire split the silence. Shouts echoed outside—men in tactical gear breaching the perimeter.
He dragged her toward a hidden panel in the wall. "Go. Down that tunnel. Don't stop."
"What about you?" she gasped.
"I'll handle them. MOVE!"
She sprinted into the dark hallway just as the door slammed shut behind her, locking with a mechanical hiss. The floor beneath her shook from impact. Gunfire. Explosions. Shouting.
She ran.
The tunnel twisted like a serpent, finally opening into a wide chamber lit with red emergency lights. There were maps. Files. Weapons.
And a laptop blinking with her name on the screen.
A chill ran through her. This wasn't a safe house.
This was a war room.
She clicked the file.
A video began to play.
Her father's face flickered onto the screen. "If you're watching this, it means they've found you. And you must know now what I couldn't say then…"
The Secrets Beneath the Garden
Arinya stared at the strange wooden door embedded into the stone wall behind the rose hedges, its handle rusted and barely hanging on. The passage Ezra had hinted at earlier wasn't a metaphor—it was a real place. A secret tunnel. A hiding place. A truth waiting to be unearthed.
Ezra crouched beside her, brushing the moss off the handle. "This is the original manor entrance, built during the war. My father sealed it. Said it led to things best left forgotten."
Her fingers trembled as she touched the cold metal. "Why bring me here now?"
"Because I saw something in your eyes last night," Ezra murmured. "You recognized the flames in your dream. You weren't just dreaming them—you remembered them."
Arinya's chest tightened. She had told him about the fire. About the recurring nightmare of hands dragging her through smoke, the sound of screaming, and something… or someone… calling her name.
"You think this place is connected?" she whispered.
"I don't think. I know."
With a heave, Ezra pulled the door open, revealing a steep staircase that descended into darkness. The scent of mildew and earth flooded out like a ghost exhaling its breath after years of silence.
He held out his hand.
She took it.
Their descent was slow. Each step echoed like a forgotten heartbeat. At the bottom, a lantern flickered on the wall, eerily still as if it had been waiting for them.
The underground corridor stretched far into the unknown. Arinya's grip tightened around Ezra's hand. "Why does this feel like déjà vu?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Because you've been here before."
They reached a chamber carved into the stone, filled with remnants of an old laboratory—shelves lined with vials, yellowed documents, and an iron bed with leather straps.
Arinya recoiled. "What is this place?"
Ezra walked forward and picked up a photograph lying on a dusty table. It showed a girl with raven-black hair and a crescent-shaped scar on her wrist—her wrist.
She gasped. "That's… me."
"No," Ezra said gravely. "It's your mother."
A jolt of confusion shot through her. Her mind reeled.
"She was a test subject," Ezra continued, voice bitter. "Taken by the Blackridge Foundation when she was just fifteen. Used for genetic research… and then disappeared. My father was part of it. That's why he adopted you, Arinya. Guilt."
A sharp buzz filled her ears. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor. Her entire life—every foster home, every hospital visit, every unexplained illness—wasn't random.
It was curated.
She was part of an experiment.
Ezra dropped beside her. "That's why you feel drawn to this place. Why you're dreaming of things that never happened to you—but happened to her."
Arinya looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
"Because I fell in love with you," Ezra whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, "long before I knew who you were."
Their lips met—a kiss soft and raw, full of questions and silent promises. But even in the embrace, Arinya could feel the walls of the underground chamber closing in. This kiss wasn't the beginning of a love story. It was calm before the war.