The print trembled slightly in her hand. The graphite words seemed to accuse her, as if the paper itself had been waiting.
Eli stood at the doorway of the darkroom. The soft red glow mixed with the yellow light from the outer room. "Seol-ah," he said slowly, "whoever wrote that wants you to question everything. They want you to run from me."
"Why shouldn't I?" Her voice cracked even though she tried to stay calm. "You have keys to places you shouldn't. You carry lock picks. You keep asking me to trust you, but you never say why I should."
He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight. "Because four years ago, you trusted me enough to love me."
The words hit her hard. She stared at him, feeling tight in her throat. "Love you?"
His gaze didn't waver. "You don't remember it, but it was real. We were—" He paused, the muscle in his jaw tightening. "We were everything."
Her fingers curled around the photograph, crumpling its edges. "And then what happened? Why would I forget all of that?"
For the first time since she had met him, his calm faded. He looked away and exhaled sharply. "Because someone wanted you to."
The silence in the darkroom pressed down on her. "What do you mean?"
He met her eyes again, and for a moment, she saw the weight he carried—guilt, longing, and something darker. "Your accident wasn't just an accident."
Her pulse raced in her ears. "You knew?"
"I suspected. But I couldn't prove it. Not without putting you in more danger."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Eli… what exactly are you?"
He smiled faintly, though it lacked humor. "Not just a coffee shop owner."
Before she could reply, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from the outer room. They both froze.
Eli moved first, turning off the red bulb. The darkroom fell into darkness.
"Stay behind me," he whispered.
Through the narrow crack of the door, a shadow passed across the studio floor—tall, deliberate, the outline of a wide-brimmed hat.