The smell of smoke never left her.
Even after fourteen years, it clung to her lungs like a curse she could never exhale. Every time she closed her eyes, she was there again—standing in the flames, barefoot, her throat raw from screaming names that would never answer.
"Mama! Papa!"
The fire had eaten their voices first, then their faces, then their bones. And when there was nothing left but ashes, the world decided Aria Sen should keep living.
She jolted awake in darkness, sweat sticking her shirt to her back. Her pulse thudded like war drums in her ears. The siren in her dream faded into the distant hum of city traffic, but the smell—God, the smell—still lingered.
She sat up on the narrow mattress, head pounding. The peeling walls of her one-room apartment stared back, silent and gray. The city outside was alive—horns blaring, drunk men laughing, some woman yelling into the night—but in here, it was a graveyard.
Aria ran a hand through her tangled hair, letting out a bitter laugh that tasted like iron.
"Good morning, world. Thanks for another nightmare."
The clock blinked 4:07 AM in blood-red digits. Too early for the living. Too late for the dead.
She swung her legs over the edge, feet landing on cold cement. No rugs, no warmth—she couldn't afford luxuries. Hell, she could barely afford air. Her stomach growled, but there was nothing in the fridge except half a bottle of stale water and an apple that had seen better days.
Work started in three hours. If she wanted to keep her job at the dingy bar downtown, she needed to get moving. Rent was due in two days, and the landlord had already warned her: One more delay and you're out.
Aria tied her hair back, grabbed her jacket, and stepped into the neon-soaked streets. Rain slicked the pavement, painting everything in a cold, silver sheen. The city was beautiful in a way that broke your heart—like a jewel covered in blood.
She walked fast, head down, ignoring the catcalls, ignoring the drunks. People like her didn't exist in this city. Not really. They were shadows that moved, worked, bled, and vanished.
But tonight, the shadows moved differently.
She felt it—eyes on her. Not the usual kind. Not lust, not greed. Something else. Something darker.
Her grip tightened around the rusted key in her pocket—the only thing she carried from the fire. It had no lock, no door, no meaning. Or so she thought.
The alley loomed ahead, her usual shortcut. She hated it, but it shaved ten minutes off her walk. She stepped in. The hum of the city dimmed behind her, swallowed by silence.
A whisper cut through the dark.
"Aria."
She froze.
No one knew her name. Not here.
Her breath hitched, fogging in the cold air.
"Who's there?" Her voice cracked like glass.
No answer—just the sound of boots scraping against wet concrete. A shadow detached itself from the wall, tall and fluid like smoke given shape.
Aria stepped back, pulse hammering.
"Stay the hell away from me—"
The man moved into the glow of a flickering streetlamp. Black coat, black hair, eyes like molten ink. And God, those eyes—like they'd seen wars, burned cities, devoured stars.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was something rare.
"You shouldn't walk alone at night," he said, voice smooth as a blade sliding through silk.
"Yeah?" She forced a shaky laugh. "And you shouldn't stalk strangers in alleys. Here we are."
His lips curved into something that wasn't a smile. "Strangers don't know your name."
Her blood turned to ice.
She didn't wait to hear more. She ran.
Boots splashed behind her, closer, closer—until a hand shot out, grabbing her arm. She twisted, slammed her elbow back, but he was faster. Too fast.
"Let go!" she screamed, nails clawing at his wrist.
The man yanked her hard, spinning her to face him. For one breathless second, their eyes locked—and the world broke.
Her pendant flared hot against her skin, searing through her shirt. A circle of light erupted around them, burning symbols into the wet pavement. The air crackled with a sound like a thousand whispers.
Aria's breath hitched. "What the hell—"
"Quiet." His voice was low, urgent now. "If you want to live, do not scream."
She stared at him, chest heaving, the glow from the symbols painting her face in firelight.
And for the first time in fourteen years, she realized something terrifying.
The fire hadn't left her life.
It had just been waiting.