Seliora’s POV

The rain whispered against the gallery windows, each drop echoing the pulse that refused to calm inside her chest. Kaelyn had already gone home, but Seliora couldn’t move. The air felt alive—like it was breathing around her, whispering a name she couldn’t remember.

She stared at the portrait she’d painted earlier that week—two figures bound by crimson threads that faded into fog.

When she touched the canvas, something burned beneath her skin.

“Lucian…” she murmured without realizing.

The lights flickered again, and in the reflection of the window, she saw a man’s shadow behind her—tall, still, familiar. She spun around. No one was there. Only the faint scent of cedar and rain remained, sharp enough to sting her memory.

Seliora pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

She wasn’t supposed to know that name.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this connection to someone she’d never met.

But deep inside, something ancient and unfinished was waking up.

---

Kaelyn’s POV

The moment she left Seliora, she regretted it.

Something about that strange silence—the flickering lights, the way Seliora’s gaze had turned distant—had unnerved her.

Kaelyn had always believed in logic, not fate. But lately, every time she touched Seliora, she felt it: a faint pull, as if something invisible was tugging both of them toward a story neither of them had written.

When her phone buzzed, she snatched it up.

A message. From an unknown number.

> “Tell Seliora to stay away from the boy who doesn’t belong.”

Her heart stopped. The boy who doesn’t belong?

Lucian.

---

Daelen’s POV

The club was loud, bodies moving to a rhythm that matched the pulse in his veins. But Daelen wasn’t there for the noise. He was there for Irian.

He spotted him near the bar—white shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar undone. That same calm composure that drove him insane.

Irian looked back once, eyes cold. But his scent betrayed him—nervous, unsteady.

Daelen smirked, closing the distance. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been living,” Irian shot back.

Daelen leaned in, his breath brushing Irian’s ear. “Funny. I thought you were running.”

Irian froze, but only for a second. “You don’t scare me, Daelen.”

“Oh, I don’t want to scare you,” Daelen murmured. “I just want to see how far you’ll fall before you admit you still crave me.”

Their eyes locked—Alpha and Omega, predator and prey, but it was impossible to tell who was which anymore.

Then, Daelen’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A single text from Nareth.

> “Lucian’s not who you think he is.”

He glanced up at Irian, something dark curling in his chest.

“Looks like the game just changed.”