The library's silence lingered long after the last whispers of shadows faded. Elena sat across from Lysander at a heavy oak table, the ancient tomes between them forming a wall she wasn't sure she wanted torn down. She told herself to be cautious, to demand answers, to hate the arrogance in his voice. And yet, when his eyes found hers, all her resolve faltered.
She hated how her chest tightened in his presence, how every glance and every silence felt like a thread pulling her toward him. Enemies, she reminded herself. Not lovers. Never lovers.
And yet her heart betrayed her.
---
Hours passed. Lysander had withdrawn into the shelves, pulling out volumes Elena could not decipher, their covers marked with runes that shimmered faintly. She watched him move, the way the shadows bent around him, how grace seemed etched into every line of his body.
At last, he spoke, not looking at her. "You shouldn't stay here after dark. It makes you… vulnerable."
"To what? To you?" she challenged.
He turned, and his lips curved into a smile that wasn't kind. "If I were your enemy, Elena, you'd already be dead."
She swallowed hard. His words were cruel, but they carried a strange reassurance—an unspoken promise that though danger followed her, it did not come from him.
---
That night, when she returned to her loft, sleep evaded her once more. Instead, she dreamt—more vivid than ever before.
She stood in a field of silver grass beneath a moon that had no twin. A child ran toward her, laughing, her small hands clutching a necklace carved with a serpent and a rose. Elena reached for her, but the vision shifted. Flames roared. A shadowy figure pulled the child away, and a voice—Lysander's voice—cried out in anguish: "I won't let them take her again!"
Elena woke with tears streaking her cheeks and a single thought: Was it his child too?
---
The next day, unable to silence her restless heart, Elena sought Lysander again. She found him not at the library but near the marketplace, watching from a rooftop like a sentinel. His cloak fluttered in the morning wind, and for a moment he looked less like a man and more like a figure carved from destiny itself.
"What are you doing up there?" she called.
His eyes met hers. He leapt down, landing with impossible grace. "Protecting you," he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.
"I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to."
She hated the way her heart skipped at those words.
---
They walked together through the crowded market, tension simmering in every step. Elena tried to distract herself by focusing on the stalls, the scents of spiced bread and roasted chestnuts. But every brush of his shoulder against hers, every glance from his shadow-dark eyes, made her pulse quicken.
"You act like you know me," she said finally.
"I do."
"No," she snapped. "You know some version of me. Not me."
He stopped walking, forcing her to face him. "Then tell me who you are, Elena. Convince me that you are not the same soul I've followed through lifetimes."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Because deep inside, she felt it too—the echo of something older than this life, a longing her mind could not explain.
---
That evening, they found themselves at the edge of the river that cut through Aurielle. The sun dipped low, turning the water to fire. Lysander stood with his arms crossed, his profile lit in gold. Elena, drawn against her will, stood beside him.
"You're angry with me," he said softly.
"I don't even know you."
"You will." His gaze shifted toward her, and for once, the weight of his words wasn't heavy with destiny—it was tender. Almost a plea.
Elena's breath hitched. She wanted to hate him, to fight him. But when he stepped closer, the world seemed to fade until there was only his nearness, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the undeniable pull between them.
---
The air crackled.
"Elena," he murmured, her name a prayer on his lips.
Her heart screamed to step back, but her body betrayed her. She tilted her face toward his, the space between them narrowing until she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"You're infuriating," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"And you're impossible," he replied, his breath ghosting against her skin.
Neither moved closer. Neither pulled away. The tension was unbearable—sweet and agonizing all at once. It wasn't a kiss, not yet, but it was more intimate than anything she had ever known.
---
Then, as if the universe refused to grant them peace, a voice broke the moment.
"Elena."
They spun. A man stood at the riverbank, his cloak embroidered with gold, his smile sharp as a blade. His presence was commanding, charming even—but something about him radiated danger.
"Who are you?" Elena asked.
The man bowed. "Call me Kael. A friend. One who knows the truth of your thread, and the price it demands."
Lysander stiffened, stepping in front of her. "He is no friend."
Kael's eyes glinted with mischief. "On the contrary, Lysander. You and I share the same goal. To protect her. The only difference… is that I am willing to tell her what you will not."
---
Elena's heart pounded. Betrayal. She could taste it on the air, feel it creeping closer. Was Kael the betrayer? Or was it Lysander, hiding truths from her?
"Stay away from him," Lysander growled.
Kael chuckled. "She'll decide for herself soon enough." His eyes met Elena's, holding her captive with a dangerous charm. "You've seen the child, haven't you?"
Elena froze.
Kael's smile widened. "Yes. I thought so."
---
The tension shattered when Kael disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the echo of his voice: "Every choice has a price, Elena. Be careful who you trust."
The night deepened. Silence returned, but nothing was the same.
Lysander turned to her, his face pale, his voice raw. "Don't listen to him. He'll twist everything."
"Maybe," she whispered, her throat tight. "Or maybe you already have."
The hurt in his eyes nearly undid her, but she couldn't stop herself. She turned from him, her heart torn between trust and suspicion, between desire and fear.
Yet even as she walked away, she knew one truth was undeniable: she was already bound to him, in ways she could no longer resist.
---
To be continued…