The storm had been prowling the horizon since noon, a bruise spreading across the sky. By evening, thunder pressed against like a hand demanding entry. The old house seemed to hold its breath, timbers creaking with each gust of wind.
Elena sat by the hearth, her tea untouched, her gaze fixed on the cloak where the letter lay. The wax seal glowed in the firelight, crimson against the pale envelope, its edges yellowing with age. She had found it there months ago addressed in no handwriting she knew, her name scrawled as if by fire itself. She had never opened it. She never dared.
The clock in the hall struck eight, its chime swallowed by thunder. She rose, restless, pacing the worn rugs as rain began to rattle against the window panes. Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, flickering with each flash of lightning. She told herself she was not waiting for anyone, yet her heart leapt at every groan of the wind yearning for someone, every echo on the porch boards.
The house was not empty. Not truly. Memories clung to its bones laughter in the halls, a boy's footsteps chasing hers through the orchard, promises whispered in the dusk. Adrian His name rose unbidden, bitter on her tongue. He had sworn to return. He had sworn a great many things.
"Who's there?"
Only silence answered.
She crept into the hall, her slippers whispering on the boards. The long corridor stretched before her, lined with portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow her. Another flash of lightning revealed the stairwell, its banister gleaming like bone. The upper landing lay in shadow.
She climbed. Each step groaned under her weight, the poker slick in her grip. At the top the air felt colder, as though the storm itself had seeped inside. A draft carried the faintest trace of smoke.
Her parents' room door stood ajar. She pushed it open.
The room was empty. The curtain billowed in the wind from a broken latch. The smell of smoke was stronger here, acrid and wrong. On the dresser, something caught her eye: a scrap of parchment, damp from the rain. She picked it up, heart hammering. No words only a symbol drawn in ash. A circle within a circle, broken by three jagged lines.
The thunder cracked directly overhead. She nearly dropped the scrap as a knock sounded at the front door.
She spun, racing back down the stairs. The knock came again, heavier this time, rattling the frame. She hesitated at the bottom, breath caught in her throat.
"Who's there?" she called.
Silence.
She edged forward, lightning painting the glass in white glare. For a heartbeat she saw nothing only the storm. Then a shadow moved on the porch, tall and motionless.
Another knock, slower now. Deliberate.
Elena's hand trembled as she reached for the latch. The storm howled behind the figure as the door yawned open.
And there he was.
Adrian.
Rain streaked his face, his clothes torn, and his eyes hollow with exhaustion. In his hand, clutched like a weapon, was another envelope – its seal the same crimson wax as the one on her cloak.
"Elena." His voice cracked like the thunder. Half-plea. Half-Confession.
The storm surged, slamming the shutters as if the house itself recoiled. The letter in his hand bled rainwater onto the floor, the crimson seal glistering like fresh blood.
Elena gripped the doorframe, torn between slamming it shut and falling into his arms. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the truth in his gaze: he had not returned out of love. He had returned because the storm had driven him here.
And whatever haunted him… had followed.
Adrian nearly collapsed as soon as he crossed the threshold. Elena caught him by the sleeve, the weight of him staggering her against the door frame. His coat was soaked, heavy as a corpse, and when she pulled if from his shoulders it fell to the floor with a wet slap. Beneath it, his shirt clung to his skin dark with blood.
"Sit," she ordered, her voice sharper than she intended.
He obeyed, sinking into the old wooden chair by the fireplace. For a moment, he seemed carved of shadow and bone, a figure half claimed by the storm. His breath rattled like a man who had outrun death itself.
Elena fetched the basin and a rag. Her hands shook as she dipped the cloth into the water then pressed it to the gash across his ribs. He hissed, but did not flinch away.
"You shouldn't be here," she murmured.
"I had nowhere else," Adrian said, his voice low, rough.
She worked in silence, dabbing at the wound, the closeness of him stirring up emotions, things she had buried deep. His warmth, even in exhaustion, unsettled her more than the storm.
"Why now?" she asked. "After all this time."
His gaze flicked to the Cloak, to the scarlet sealed letter she had never opened. His jaw tightened.
"Because the order never forgets," he said. "And when the seal finds you, it binds tighter than chains."
Elena stilled, the rag in her hand. She spoke "What order?"
But he looked away, offering no answer.
On the floor beside him, his hand clenched around something. She reached for it, and his grip tightened, knuckles white. He held another letter, its wax the same dark red as hers.
"Don't touch it," he said, sharper than he meant. His eyes softened a moment later, weary. "please."
The fire popped in the fireplace, filling the silence. She sat back, her heart in turmoil. He was here, Alive, Within reach. And yet he carried secrets like weapons, and danger in them felt heavier than the storm outside.
Through the shutters came a sound.
Elena stiffened. Adrian must have heard it too; his head lifted, eyes narrowing. The wind, she thought, only the wind. But no, there it was again, a scrape, a whisper of movement.
Before she could speak, glass shattered.
The window burst inward, shards scattering across the floor. Figures forced their way inside, three of them, cloaked and faceless in the storm light, in the lead one's hand a glinting dagger.
Adrian was on his feet in an instant, moving with a swiftness that startled her. He caught the first intruder's arm and twisted until the bone cracked, the drove his elbow into the man's throat. The figure collapsed, gasping soundlessly.
Another surged towards Elena. She snatched the iron poker from beside the fireplace and swung with both hands. The blow landed with a sickening crack, the figure staggered back, hood slipping enough to reveal not a face but something not human, skin too pale, too smooth, and when the wound opened no blood spilled. Only smoke, hissing black and acrid.
"Elena!" Adrian's voice cut through her shock. He shoved her behind him, blade flashing from nowhere. Steel rang against steel as he parried a strike from the third intruder. The fight was close, brutal, bodies slamming against furniture, the firelight throwing wild shadows on the walls.
He dodged a dark sweeping slice ducking under the assassin's sweeping dagger, the sharpened steel whistling inches from his ear. Before the figure could pivot and strike again, Adrian lunged, his fingers digging like claws into the masked man's jawline. With a horrifying, sickening tear, he ripped open his opponent's mouth with his bare hands. The assassin let out a gurgling, ragged cry that was instantly cut short. At last, with a guttural cry, Adrian drove his blade deep. The figure crumpled, exhaling a final cloud of dark smoke before falling still.
The silence that followed roared louder than the storm.
Elena's chest heaved, her grip trembling on the poker. She looked at the thing on the floor, the body already smoldering, and the air sharp with a stench like burnt iron.
"What are they?" She whispered.
Adrian wiped his blade on his sleeve, his face grim. "They've found us already."
"Us?" Her voice rose. "You... You've brought this here, into my home!"
He turned to her, rainwater still dripping from his hair, eyes fierce with something she couldn't name. "You were never safe, Elena. Not from them, not from the seal."
For a heartbeat, their anger dissolved into silence. They stood too close, their breath still ragged, the air between them charged with something as dangerous as the fight itself.
She nearly stepped forward, nearly bridged the distance, until she looked again at the body on the floor.
It was gone.
The wood beneath it was blackened as if burnt, the smoke still curling faintly, but the figure itself had vanished into nothing.
Elena's blood turned cold.
Adrian met her gaze, his expression dark as the storm. "This is only the beginning."