Nightfall in the city always felt like a cloak Elias couldn't shake.
He stood on the rooftop of an abandoned theater, watching the skyline burn in orange glow. The wind tugged at his coat. His thoughts wandered to Seraphina.
She had vanished after the fight with Varek—no trace, no signal. Just silence. But her presence still clung to him like smoke. Memories of their last exchange haunted him. The words, the look in her eyes, the way her blade danced with hesitation.
Tonight, he needed answers.
He heard the click of boots before she spoke.
"You're looking for ghosts again, Elias," Seraphina said from the shadows, her voice calm, amused.
He turned, already knowing it was her. "You're late."
"I was never coming. You just wished I would."
She stepped into the light. Leather coat, twin daggers, hair tied back in a loose knot. Beautiful and deadly.
"You ran," he said.
"I regrouped. There's a difference."
A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Finally, she spoke again.
"Why are you really here?"
"Because I'm tired of not knowing where you stand."
She walked closer. "And if I told you I still stand with the Order? That my blade could be at your throat tomorrow?"
He didn't move. "Then I guess I'll keep watching my back."
Their eyes locked.
"You weren't supposed to come back," she said softly.
"Neither were you."
She reached into her coat slowly—not for a weapon, but a small silver pendant. She tossed it to him.
He caught it.
It was his. From years ago.
"You dropped this the night they betrayed you," she said.
He clenched it tightly. "And you were part of it."
"I was told to be. But things change, Elias. People change."
A pause.
"So have you."
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain was coming.
She turned her back to him. "If you still want to know the truth... meet me tomorrow. Warehouse 9. Midnight. Come alone."
"And if it's a trap?"
She looked over her shoulder. "Then die knowing you still matter."
And with that, she vanished into the dark.
Elias remained still, the pendant warm in his fist.
Seraphina. Was she a storm to face, or a storm he once belonged to?
Tomorrow would decide everything.