The footsteps in the hallway stopped.
Not faded — stopped. As if whoever had been approaching was now standing just outside the office door, listening.
Lucien's posture shifted. Subtle, but alert. One hand hovered near his side, where most men might carry a weapon. But he wasn't armed. Not in a traditional sense.
Amara stood frozen, every instinct on high alert. "Lucien," she whispered. "What if it's security?"
"It's not."
His voice was sharp. Certain.
A shadow passed beneath the door. Slow. Deliberate.
Lucien moved silently across the room and turned off the light. Darkness wrapped around them like a second skin. The only illumination came from the city lights outside the window, silver and cold.
They waited. No knock. No voice. Just the sound of breath on the other side of the door — then silence.
Lucien opened the drawer of the desk and pulled out a thin, curved blade. Ancient-looking. Not ceremonial — functional. The steel gleamed faintly in the dim light.
"What the hell is going on?" Amara whispered, her pulse pounding in her ears.
"I was hoping we had more time," Lucien muttered. "But if someone found us already…"
The door creaked.
Not open — just tested. A slow press, as if whoever was out there wanted to make sure they were still inside.
Lucien moved toward it. "Stay behind me."
"I'm not hiding," she snapped.
"You're not trained for this."
"I wasn't trained for any of this."
His eyes met hers in the dark, and for a flicker of a second, he smiled. A real smile. "Point taken."
Then — the door burst open.
No crash. No theatrics. It just… opened. Slowly. Eerily. And no one was there.
Lucien stepped out first, blade at his side.
The hallway was empty.
Amara followed him out, nerves jangling. The lights above buzzed faintly. A few were out, casting uneven shadows across the polished floor.
"Is this supposed to be some kind of scare tactic?" she asked. "Because it's working."
Lucien crouched near the edge of the doorframe and ran a hand over the molding. When he stood again, there was something in his hand.
A symbol. Etched into the wood.
It looked like a spiral, but broken. Inverted. Carved deep with precision. It matched the one in his journal.
"What is that?" Amara asked, her voice tight.
Lucien's expression turned grim. "It's a warning."
"From who?"
"Not who," he said quietly. "What."
He didn't elaborate.
They returned to the office, and Lucien relocked the cabinet with the journal and the box. Whatever had happened tonight wasn't random — and it wasn't the end.
"I need to know everything," Amara said, crossing her arms to hide the trembling in her hands. "No more cryptic answers. No more riddles. What's going on? What am I involved in?"
Lucien looked at her for a long time, as if weighing something.
Then he sat down and gestured for her to do the same.
"There's a group," he began. "They call themselves The Circle of Thirteen. They believe in the cycle — that certain souls are reborn, again and again, tied together through time. You and I… we're not the only ones. But we're the only ones they're after."
"Why?"
"Because every time we find each other, something breaks. Their order. Their control. We are a threat to them — not because of who we are now, but who we've been. And what we might become again."
She shook her head slowly. "You're telling me I'm part of some ancient soul-bonded rebellion against a cult?"
Lucien actually chuckled. "That's a dramatic way to put it. But yes."
Amara rubbed her temples. "You should've led with that."
"I was trying not to scare you off."
"Well, that ship's sailed."
A long silence settled between them.
Then Amara looked up at him. "And the mark on the door?"
Lucien's smile faded. "That means they've found you."
Her stomach turned cold.
"They'll come again," he said. "They always do. But this time… we fight."
She stared at him, trying to find some trace of sanity in what she'd just heard. But beneath the madness, beneath the supernatural, beneath all the shadows… something told her he was telling the truth.
And worse?
Some part of her wasn't afraid.
Some part of her was ready.