The sunlight was softer the next morning, reluctant to touch the floorboards of Elias's studio. A ghostly stillness clung to the air as if the night before had left behind more than tangled sheets and breathless moans.
Elias lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. His fingertips still tingled with memory. Her skin, her lips, the way she clung to him like she might vanish if he let go. But something in the pit of his stomach churned. A flicker of unease.
Liora had left before dawn, silent and shaken, like a woman fleeing not from sin but from something far older.
He sat up abruptly, the sheets falling away. He could still smell her on his skin.
And under that scent, the faintest trace of something colder.
Ash. Smoke. The metallic edge of blood.
He blinked, shaking it off, rising from bed to wash the unease from his body. But as the cold water hit his face, it wasn't just his reflection that stared back at him.
It was another man.
His features were still his sharp cheekbones, intense gray eyes but aged. Hardened. Dressed in an old military coat and smeared with soot, like he'd walked out of a war.
Elias stumbled back from the mirror, gasping.
In a blink, it was gone.
He gripped the sink, heart racing.
It wasn't the first time this had happened.
But it was getting stronger.
More vivid.
More real.
Outside, the streets of Paris hummed with spring life. Flower sellers called out at corners, and lovers strolled along the Seine. But Elias moved through it like a ghost, the world around him distant and blurred.
All he could see was her face.
Liora.
She had awakened something no, reawakened it.
He found himself walking without aim until the chime of cathedral bells pulled him toward Saint-Sulpice. He hadn't stepped into a church in years, not since his father's burial. But something drew him inside.
The interior was dark, thick with incense. Candles flickered along the sides like breath held in suspense.
As he sat in the last pew, silence wrapped around him like a cocoon.
Then she entered.
He didn't see her face only the back of her head, the dark braid trailing down her back, the way she moved like she belonged in another century. His breath caught.
She stopped at the altar and lit a candle.
And then without turning she spoke.
"Do you remember the fire?"
His blood ran cold.
"What fire?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "The one that took me from you. Lyon, 1347. The convent. We were found out."
Elias stood abruptly. "Who are you?"
Now she turned.
It wasn't Liora.
But it was her.
Different face, same soul.
Her eyes were the same, the same storm, the same quiet grief.
"You're not going mad, Elias," she said gently. "You're just starting to remember."
His legs faltered as he sat again, breath shallow. "This can't be real."
She moved closer, kneeling beside him. "We've been many people. Many names. But it's always been us. Over and over."
He stared at her, at the face that wasn't Liora's, and yet felt like her touch.
"I saw myself. In the mirror," he muttered. "As someone else."
"You were Captain Marcus in 1812. And before that, a farmer's son in Persia. You always find me, Elias. Even when you don't know you're looking."
He gripped the edge of the pew. "Why now?"
"Because this life is different. You're closer to breaking the cycle. Closer to remembering in time."
"In time for what?"
Her expression turned sorrowful. "To stop what always happens next."
Elias's heart thundered. "Which is?"
She stood. "You lose me."
That night, the dreams returned with ferocity.
Flames devoured stone walls. Screams echoed. A silver cross crashed to the floor. He ran through smoke, searching.
"Liora!" he shouted into the blaze.
But it wasn't Liora's name that left his lips. It was Isolde.
He found her in a tower, chained and burning, tears carving tracks through soot. Her eyes locked with his as the ceiling gave way, and she mouthed something. Words he couldn't hear, only feel.
Find me. Before it happens again.
He jolted awake, sweat-drenched, shaking.
The fire still burned in his nostrils.
He rolled over and found her beside him.
Liora.
Fast asleep, her lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. She looked younger in sleep. More fragile.
He watched her for a long time, afraid to blink. Afraid she'd vanish.
He reached out, brushing her cheek.
She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
"I found you," he whispered. "This time, I found you first."
Liora didn't remember the dream.
When she woke, she looked at Elias with affection but not recognition. Not yet.
She sipped the tea he offered, her fingers grazing his in a way that still sent jolts up his spine.
"I had strange dreams," she said absently. "About fire and chains."
He held his breath. "And me?"
She frowned. "I… don't know. Maybe."
He kissed her forehead and forced a smile. "We have time."
But a voice echoed in the back of his mind.
You always lose me.
This time, he swore he wouldn't.
He would uncover the truth of their curse.
And break the cycle.
Before it broke them again.