I couldn't sleep.
Again.
This time it wasn't the old dreams. Not the woods. Not the blood or the cold or the breath that stopped in my throat the night he changed.
This time, it was his voice.
She hasn't changed.
Still folds her arms when she's uncomfortable.
Did he see that?
When?
How many times had he looked at me and catalogued my habits like I was something to study? A pattern to break?
I sat on the edge of my bed, the laptop still open, the file long gone—deleted, wiped, erased. But not from my head.
Never from my head.
I could still feel the way my stomach dropped when I saw his initials. L.V. Not just lurking in the company. In my file.
No one should have that kind of access.
Not even the CEO.
I didn't know what scared me more—how much he knew, or how calm he was about it.
I didn't even know what he wanted.
Was this a warning?
A test?
Or something worse?
My hand hovered over my phone. Isla's name sat in the top corner. One tap and I could ask her if this was normal. If files like that floated around for all new hires.
But something stopped me.
If Isla found out what I'd seen, I'd have to explain everything.
The boy in the woods.
The night I almost died.
The scars I didn't show.
The one man who could still rip open the part of me I'd spent a decade stitching shut.
I wasn't ready.
So instead, I stood.
Dressed.
Grabbed my keys.
And walked.
The city at night isn't dead—it just moves differently.
It breathes through streetlights and late buses and the occasional hiss of tyres on wet pavement. It's quieter, sure, but not quiet.
Not enough.
I walked without a plan. My boots hit the sidewalk and my jacket clung to my shoulders like I'd forgotten how to wear it right. I wasn't cold, but I was shivering.
Somewhere between blocks, I stopped looking at street signs.
I let my feet choose.
Somehow, they brought me here.
Twelve stories up. Office tower. The building. His building.
The lobby was dark, just emergency lights humming in the corners. A night guard sat behind the glass desk, half-asleep, scrolling on his phone with one AirPod in.
He didn't look up as I passed.
I told myself I just needed to look. Just needed to see the space again. Remind me it was normal. That this job was normal. That he was just a man with a good suit and a hidden file.
But I wasn't supposed to be there.
Not after hours.
Not alone.
Not like this.
The elevator chimed softly as it opened, cool and bright and sterile. I stepped in before I could stop myself and pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.
The doors slid shut like they had been waiting for me.
I stared at my reflection in the mirrored walls.
I didn't look scared.
But I didn't look like me either.
The doors opened to silence.
No hum of conversation. No keyboards. Just that eerie, open-office quiet that feels like the air is holding its breath.
I stepped out, slowly.
Walked past the empty meeting rooms. Past the glass conference table where Lucas had first said my name.
And then—
I felt it.
Not a sound.
Not a shadow.
Just presence.
The kind of weight you don't hear but feel in your teeth.
Someone else was here.
And I already knew who.
I didn't hear his footsteps.
He didn't say my name this time.
He didn't have to.
I felt him before I saw him.
Lucas stepped out of the shadows near the corner of the floor, one hand in his coat pocket, the other loose at his side.
He wasn't surprised to see me.
That was the first thing that hit me.
Like he'd expected this. Like he knew I'd come.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly.
I didn't answer.
He took another step closer. Just one.
The lights above him cast his face in soft edges—sharper than I remembered, but not cruel. Not yet.
"Why am I in your files?" I asked.
My voice sounded too steady. I hated that. I wanted to shake. Scream. Run.
Instead, I stood there like a stone.
Lucas didn't flinch.
"I had to know it was you," he said.
"That's not an excuse."
"It's not meant to be."
Another step.
Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could see the faint scar near his temple. One I didn't remember. One I wanted to ask about—and hated myself for wanting that.
"You watched me."
"I needed to be sure."
"You read my file before I even walked into the building."
"Yes."
He didn't lie.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't try to soften the edges.
That scared me more than if he had.
"I was supposed to be a stranger to you," I said. "You were supposed to see me and forget everything."
"I've tried," he said.
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I didn't ask you to remember."
"I didn't ask to survive."
That stopped everything.
He took a breath like it hurt.
"You think I walked away whole that night?" he asked. "You think I just disappeared and started a new life?"
I stared at him.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"There's not a day that goes by I don't remember what I almost did," he said. "To you. To him. To myself."
"And yet here we are," I said, barely above a whisper.
He nodded once.
"Yeah. Here we are."
Silence stretched between us like wire.
One pull and it would snap.
But I was done standing in it.
"You were going to kill me," I said.
Lucas didn't answer right away.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't look away either.
"I don't remember that part clearly," he said. "But yeah. I think I was."
I exhaled sharply. "You say it like it's a weather report."
"I say it like it's the truth."
I stepped back, the distance reflexive.
He noticed. Of course, he did.
"I didn't stop because I recognized you," he said. "I stopped because something inside me broke open. You looked at me like I was still human."
"You weren't."
"I know."
And the worst part was—he wasn't defending himself.
He wasn't trying to make me feel better. He wasn't rewriting history or softening the blood.
He was just owning it.
"I thought you died," I whispered. "That night. After the fireworks. I thought the thing you became killed the rest of you."
He watched m
e closely, jaw tightening. "It almost did."
"Then why come back?" I asked. "Why not let me believe it?"
His voice was quieter now.
"Because I don't know if you're the one thing I need to forget…"
He paused.
"Or the only thing I need to remember."