I didn't know where my feet were taking me.
All I knew was I had to run. From Luthor. From the memories. From myself.
The city blurred. My breath came out in short gasps, lungs raw from the cold. My chest ached with something deeper than fear. Something heavier.
I hated him. I hated him for what he'd done.
And yet…
His face wouldn't leave me.
That twisted version of tenderness. The shadowed warmth in his eyes before it all turned black.
It haunted me.
So when I saw him "Lucien" standing beneath the flickering streetlight with his hands in his coat pockets and that same face beneath a smooth black mask, my heart seized.
The mask covered half his face, but I knew.
I knew.
It was his face.
Luthor's.
But… not him.
Something in the posture. The stillness. The air around him.
Lucien didn't devour space like Luthor. He didn't look at me like he wanted to break me just to see how I'd rebuild.
His eyes, what I could see of them held no cruelty.
Only something unreadable.
I froze. My instincts screamed to run again.
But my legs gave out.
I sank to my knees on the concrete, sobbing silently.
He didn't rush me. Didn't call out.
He just walked over, slow, deliberate, and knelt beside me.
"Still alive," he said softly. "Good."
His voice was like his presence. Quiet, playful, but hiding something deeper.
He offered me his hand. I stared at it for too long.
Then I took it.
The car wasn't luxurious. Just black. Quiet. Warm.
We drove through silence, save for the hum of the tires on the wet road. He didn't ask questions. He didn't speak until we stopped.
A small motel on the edge of the city.
Dull yellow lights. Snow gathering on the rooftop. Nothing special.
"I'm not staying long," he said, unlocking the door to a tiny room with two beds. "We leave tomorrow."
I hesitated before following him inside.
He threw his coat over a chair and flopped onto the bed closest to the wall like a teenager who didn't care about rules.
I stood in the doorway, still trembling.
He looked up at me. "Relax, schatzi. I don't bite, unless asked nicely."
I almost laughed. Almost.
But the tears still sat in my throat.
He stood and handed me a cup of water. His gloved hand brushed mine. No threat.
Just... presence.
Lucien was confusing.
His voice was Luthor's. His face was Luthor's.
But he wasn't him.
Still… part of me missed Luthor. Or maybe, the part of him I thought was real.
The lie I wanted to believe.
And I hated myself for it.
"Why do you have to look like him?" I asked, voice small.
He glanced at me sideways, taking off his gloves. "Because he's my twin." he said with a light smile.
I knew but still, a part of me wished differently.
Twin.
Same face. Same voice. But Lucien was…
Different.
Even when he smiled. Especially then.
"Why the mask?"
"Because I'm prettier half-hidden." He winked.
I didn't laugh.
I was too broken for humor.
But somehow, he didn't push. He just lay down, hands behind his head.
"You should rest," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we go where answers live[Russia]."
I sat on the edge of the other bed, staring at the shadows on the wall.
"I want to know why," I whispered.
He didn't respond.
But I knew he heard me.
— — —
The plane was small but sleek. Cold air pressed against my skin as we ascended.
Lucien didn't talk much. Just glanced out the window, watching the clouds like they had secrets he could taste.
I finally gathered courage.
"Was that really Luthor?" I asked.
Lucien didn't move.
But something in the air shifted.
Then he looked at me, eyes darker than the sky outside.
"Yes."
The silence that followed felt like drowning.
My chest tightened. I turned away from him.
Lucien leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You're asking the wrong questions," he said.
"Then what's the right one?"
He stared at me for a long time.
Then finally…
"Why you?"
My breath caught.
"Why are you in the middle of this mess? Why does he want you? Why do I?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't know.
Lucien sat back again, folding his hands.
"The supernatural world isn't a myth," he said softly. "It's deeper than blood. It's politics, war, history. And you… you're tangled in it whether you like it or not."
That was all he gave me.
No explanations. No truths.
Just a crack in the wall.
— — —
Russia was colder than I imagined.
The snow came down in sheets, biting at my face as we drove.
Not in a limo or sleek car—just a black SUV with dark windows.
The man behind the wheel didn't speak. Neither did Lucien.
He wasn't joking anymore.
His air shifted the moment we crossed the border.
By the time we reached the estate, I could feel it—like walking into another world.
The building was flashy. Stone. Old. Guarded.
Inside, it breathed power.
Not the kind you brag about.
The kind you fear.
Lucien stood taller. Walked heavier. People stepped out of his way.
Someone whispered, "The Prince has returned."
Prince.
I followed him through the halls, unsure if I should breathe.
My chest felt tight with questions.
We stopped before a door. Wooden, heavy, carved with symbols.
He looked at me. "Rest here. Tomorrow begins truth."
He pushed the door open.
I stepped in.
It was dimly lit, warm, quiet,it was lavish. Just not the Luthor kind of lavish.
I dropped my bag and moved toward the bed then froze.
Voices.
Whispers from behind the wall.
"She doesn't know yet."
"She will."
"Soon"
Then silence.
Goosebumps raced down my arms.
I turned to the door
Lucien was gone.
And suddenly, I wasn't sure if I had escaped anything at all.
Or walked straight into something worse.