I followed her instructions, my fingers grazing the cold banister as I ascended, each step drawing me deeper into the lair of the Timehunter who had bludgeoned his name into history with blood and ruin.Merciless and calculated, Thomas Alexander had orchestrated the downfall of so many Timebornes and Timebounds.My fallen comrades.Their ghosts walked with me now, silent phantoms pressing against my spine, reminding me why I had come.
For justice.
For vengeance.
The air thickened with each footfall, heavy with the scent of aged wood and something bitter—something old and resentful that clung to the very bones of this house.
I had barely taken a few strides down the dimly lit corridor when something—someone—collided with me.
She stumbled against my chest, her nearness a jarring warmth against the cold I had wrapped myself in.My hands shot out instinctively, gripping her shoulders, steadying the fine-boned frame that trembled beneath my touch.
“Forgive me, I should watch where I’m going,” she whispered, her voice as delicate as porcelain, yet beneath it ran a current of quiet strength.
And then she looked up.
Eyes the color of a forgotten sky—wide, searching, brimming with a silent plea—locked onto mine.
The contrast between us was stark.
I was cloaked in shadows and deception.
She was a beacon of light trapped within the gloom of this house.
For a moment, I forgot where I stood.I forgot the mission, the vengeance, the weight of the name I carried.
“Who are?—”
Her voice faltered, the words collapsing on her tongue.I didn’t answer.I didn’t have to.Silence spoke louder.I studied her—the confusion in her eyes, the slight parting of her lips, the way her breath trembled like she was already bracing for a blow.There was no mask on her.No pretense.Just raw, unfiltered fear.
She met my gaze, and for a split second, I knew she saw it—the danger coiled in me like a serpent beneath still waters.But also, something else.Not mercy.Not comfort.Just...awareness.Recognition.Like she understood I wasn’t from this world of silk and protocol either.And maybe, I wasn’t her enemy.
Then—footsteps.
Deliberate.Heavy.I knew that rhythm before she reacted.That arrogant, malicious cadence that turned every corridor into a battlefield.Her father was coming.
She stiffened in my arms.Her panic struck me before she moved, radiating off her like a rising fever.She tore herself from my grasp, but her wrist lingered in my palm a second too long.I felt the tremor, the way her pulse jolted beneath my touch.Her breath hitched, caught in her throat like it feared making a sound.My fingers stayed suspended in the space she left behind—open, empty.A promise I hadn’t made.A warning I hadn’t voiced.
“Elizabeth, come back here!”
His voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.She flinched violently, her entire frame going rigid, spine snapping to attention like a soldier summoned to heel.Trained.Conditioned.It wasn’t discipline—it was fear etched into her bones.
And then—she ran.
She darted like a deer beneath the jaws of a lion, pale skirts trailing behind her like smoke fleeing fire.The hallway swallowed her, but the echo of her flight lingered—soft footfalls, the whisper of fabric, the faint scent of rosewater.
She was gone in seconds.
But the icy aftermath she left behind didn’t fade.It settled in my chest like a bad omen.
I took a step forward, instinct urging me to follow—to ensure her safety or perhaps to quiet the inexplicable concern stirring in my chest—when the heavy thud of approaching footsteps shattered my focus.
I turned abruptly, coming face to face with him.
Lord Thomas Alexander.
His arrival cast a pall of dread over the corridor.
My eyes narrowed, a silent snarl curling beneath my carefully composed expression.So this was the man I had come to destroy.
