The bookstore smelled like mildew and forgotten dreams. It was the kind of place that didn't exist on Google Maps — tucked between a pawn shop and a broken payphone downtown.
Amara followed Isla in.
"You're sure you need something here?" Amara asked, eyeing a crooked sign that read "Lores & Lost Languages."
Isla smiled. "Yeah. Professor McKellan wants us to find physical references for our folklore paper. Super annoying."
Amara rolled her eyes. "Could've just lied and said we're here for crystals and chaos spells."
Isla laughed, but it didn't reach her eyes.
They wandered inside. Books lined the walls in wild, uneven towers. The air was heavy — almost like it was watching.
Amara trailed her fingers along one of the spines. Something tugged inside her.
And then—
The room flickered.
Like a candle had gone out behind her eyes.
She's in a forest.
Her dress is torn, her hands stained red.
Lucian is kneeling beside her, holding her tightly, begging her to breathe.
But her chest is rising slower… slower…
And standing above them—
Nico.
Sword trembling.
Tears streaming down his face.
"I didn't want to—" he whispers. "I didn't want it to be you."
Her throat is full of blood.
She tries to say his name.
Not Lucian's.
Nico's.
"Amara?"
Isla's voice yanked her back.
The vision snapped. She was back in the bookstore, chest heaving, hands trembling.
"I—I think I just blacked out," Amara whispered.
Isla grabbed her arm. "Are you okay?"
"No."
And that was the first true thing she'd said all day.
Meanwhile, Nico sat alone in the manor's underground gym, fists wrapped, knuckles split. He hadn't stopped punching the bag for an hour.
The visions had started again.
Flashes of fire.
Steel.
Amara's lifeless body.
He had known his purpose since he was eight — when the seer came to the house and whispered, "He is the knife disguised as a brother."
He was never meant to love her.
He was meant to end her.
Each life, different name. Different face.
Same fate.
The vessel. The blade. The executioner.
But this time?
This time he had loved her.
"I won't let it happen," he growled. "She doesn't have to love him."
He pulled out his phone.
A message sent.
"Dinner tonight. Just us."
In a secret chamber beneath the city — one that pulsed with ancient runes and whispering walls — Isla knelt before a ritual bowl.
The blood was ready.
The herbs burned blue.
The chant slid from her tongue like it had lived there for generations.
"Through bloodline and bound thread,
Let her heart forget the dead.
Keep the fire, stop the flame,
Let her never speak his name."
The candle flickered violently.
But as she reached for the final sigil — the burn seal — her hand trembled.
Amara's laugh. Her smile. The way she trusted her with everything.
Isla clenched her jaw.
"You're not supposed to matter."
But she did.
She really, really did.
Back at the manor, Amara stood in her room, staring at herself in the mirror.
She touched her chest — right where Lucian's mark had been.
And whispered, "Why do I feel like I've died before?"