Her breath snags in her throat.
Standing in the dim hallway outside the restaurant bathroom, she feels Nathel's presence like a hand pressed firmly between her shoulder blades — not touching her, but felt.
Her pulse stumbles.
She turns.
And there he is.
Nathel.
The boy she loved.
The boy she lost.
The boy her soul still hasn't let go of.
He looks like a storm carved into human form — tall, rigid, shadows clinging to him as if he carried his own darkness around.
His eyes land on her.
And for a split second…
they soften.
A fraction.
Barely there.
But real.
He steps closer.
"May."
Her name leaves him like an exhale he's been holding for years — rough, uneven, almost pained.
Her hand grips the wall behind her.
"N-Nathel… what are you doing here?"
He swallows. His jaw tightens.
"I tried to stay away," he says quietly. "I really… tried."
Her heart twists painfully.
Tried?
Tried for who?
Tried for what?
Before she can ask, the air thickens — the bond reacting to their proximity.
The temperature drops.
Not cold.
Not warm.
Just… intense.
Her chest tightens with a pull so sharp she nearly gasps.
He feels it too — she can tell by the way his fingers curl slightly, as though his body is fighting the urge to reach for her.
He looks down.
"May… that day on the bridge… when I heard you call my name—"
She flinches.
He notices.
His voice softens. Breaking.
"I wasn't supposed to hear it," he murmurs. "But I did. And it hasn't left me since."
Her eyes burn.
"Then why didn't you come to me?" she whispers. "Why didn't you say something? Anything?"
His breath stutters — he looks away, jaw clenching.
"Because I thought the bond was dead," he says quietly. "I thought… whatever we had was gone. You didn't call me for months. I assumed you chose your peace without me."
Her heart aches.
"Nathel… I didn't choose anything. I lost you."
He meets her eyes sharply — as though hearing something he's waited too long for.
But before either of them can speak again, something flickers at the end of the hallway.
A shadow.
Soft.
Blinking.
Wrong.
Nathel freezes.
May's skin prickles.
He steps in front of her instinctively — protective, tense, alert.
The shadow stretches — thin fingers, long limbs — before melting into the floor as if it was never there.
May's breath shakes.
"What— what was that?"
Nathel doesn't answer.
His eyes track the empty space.
Then slowly, he turns back to her.
"We're running out of time, May."
Her throat tightens.
"Time for what?"
He steps closer — close enough she feels the heat of him, the magnetic pull of the bond thrumming wildly.
His voice drops.
"For the truth."
Her heart drops into her stomach.
He holds her gaze.
"And for me to explain why we broke the bond in the first place."