Scarlet's breath caught in her throat the moment her name slipped from his lips.
Soft.
Unhurried.
Spoken like he had said it many times before, maybe even whispered it into her skin in a memory she could no longer reach.
He stepped out of the shadows calmly, like he belonged to them. Like they were an extension of him. His presence filled the narrow alley, swallowing the weak morning light.
Scarlet forced herself to find her voice.
"Do I know you?"
Her tone was sharper than she intended, but fear wrapped around her ribs like cold wire.
He stopped a few feet in front of her, hands still tucked in his coat pockets, a picture of effortless control. Up close, he was even more striking. His eyes were dark—too dark. Black coffee, midnight storms, obsidian. They didn't just look at her; they assessed her, peeled back layers as though she were transparent.
"You should," he said quietly.
Her skin prickled. "Well, I don't."
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "Not anymore."
Scarlet stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He tilted his head, studying her reaction, not answering the question. Instead, he said, "You shouldn't be alone right now."
The statement hit her harder than she expected. "Excuse me?"
He stepped closer.
Scarlet instinctively backed up until her spine met the cold brick wall.
He didn't touch her. He didn't even reach for her. But his proximity carried heat, energy, danger—like standing close to an open flame. Too close and she'd burn.
"You're being watched," he said.
Her pulse jumped. "By who?"
He didn't blink. "By people who want you gone."
Scarlet swallowed. Hard.
There it was—the truth she'd been trying to ignore since waking with a bruise around her wrist and a missing memory. But hearing it come from him, from a stranger who felt too familiar… that made her chest tighten painfully.
She kept her voice steady. "Who exactly are these people?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card.
Black.
Serpent.
Scarlet.
He held it between two fingers, letting the weak light glint off it.
Her heart thudded. "Why do you have that?"
He stepped closer, raising the card.
"You tell me," he said softly. "You had one too."
Scarlet's breath hitched.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I left it," he said simply.
Her stomach twisted. "Why? Why would you leave something that looks like a threat on my floor?"
"A warning," he corrected. "And a reminder."
"A reminder of what?" Her voice cracked despite her attempt to keep it strong.
His eyes softened just barely, barely enough for her to question if she imagined it. "Of the truth you've forgotten."
Scarlet's hands shook. She balled them into fists to hide it.
"Stop speaking in riddles," she said. "If you know something—anything—that can explain what's happening to me, then say it."
Silence stretched.
A dangerous kind of silence. Heavy. Sharp.
He slipped the card back into his pocket. "Not here."
"Then where?"
His gaze flickered over her shoulder, toward the street. Her instincts told her he was checking for someone—someone who might be following her. When he refocused on her, his eyes held a shadow of urgency.
"We can't stay out in the open."
Scarlet shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You already did," he murmured.
A chill shot through her. "What are you talking about?"
Another flicker of expression crossed his face—something like pain, or anger, or something tangled between both.
"You were with me last night," he said. "Before everything went wrong."
No.
No.
No.
Her chest tightened so suddenly she gasped.
"I wasn't with you," she insisted. "I don't even know your name."
"You do," he said quietly. "You just don't remember."
Scarlet felt the walls closing in. She pushed past him, desperate for air, for clarity, for something that wasn't this suffocating fog of confusion.
But his voice followed her like gravity.
"Scarlet."
She froze.
He stepped behind her, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath brush the back of her neck.
"You were with me," he repeated. "You trusted me."
Her heart broke into a sprint.
He continued, softer. "And I saved your life."
She turned around quickly, anger lighting her veins. "Saved me from what?"
He didn't hesitate. "From the same people who are still hunting you."
Scarlet exhaled shakily. "Tell me who they are."
He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing what she could handle. Finally, he spoke.
"There's a group in this city," he said. "A group that exists beneath the surface. Beneath the law. Beneath everything you think you understand."
She swallowed. "The symbol."
His eyes didn't waver. "The scarlet serpent."
Her pulse hammered. "What does it mean?"
"It means you're involved," he said. "Whether you want to be or not."
Scarlet felt her throat tighten. "Involved how?"
"You know something," he answered. "Something valuable. Something dangerous." A beat. "And someone realized last night."
She blinked slowly, every cell in her body screaming. "So they wiped my memory?"
He didn't deny it.
Scarlet pressed a hand to her temple, panic spiraling. "I can't—this can't be real."
"It is," he said. "And you're not safe."
Her voice cracked. "If they want me dead, why aren't I already?"
"Because I stopped them," he said simply.
Scarlet stared at him, stunned.
He said it not like a boast, not like a warning, but like a fact.
A truth.
He stepped closer again, slow, deliberate. "They're still searching for you. And they will find you unless you stay with me."
"No," she whispered, backing away. "I don't trust you."
His expression didn't change. "You don't have to trust me."
He shifted slightly, blocking the alley's entrance without seeming to move at all.
"You just have to survive."
Scarlet clenched her fists. "Why do you care whether I survive?"
His jaw ticked.
That was the first real crack in his mask.
For a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes—as though she had touched a nerve he didn't know was exposed.
Finally, he said, "Because losing you once was enough."
The words hit her like a punch. She stepped back, breath shaking, mind spiraling.
"Stop." Her voice trembled. "Stop talking like you know me."
"I do," he said.
Everything in her screamed to run. To get away from him and the memories he claimed she lost. To get away from the truth lurking behind his eyes.
But she stayed.
She hated that she stayed.
He moved closer, slow enough to give her the chance to pull away. She didn't.
"Scarlet," he said, voice lower now, almost gentle. "Look at me."
She didn't want to. But her eyes lifted on instinct.
He held her gaze, dark and deep and unwavering.
"You're not crazy," he said. "You're not imagining what's happening. You're not losing your mind."
He paused.
"You're remembering."
Her breath stilled. "Remembering what?"
His voice softened. "Everything they tried to erase."
Scarlet's stomach twisted.
Last night's flashes—
The blood.
The gunshot.
The shadowed figure.
His voice.
His touch.
Heat.
Fear.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Her heartbeat thundered.
He watched her reaction carefully. "Pieces are coming back to you, aren't they?"
"No," she lied too quickly.
He stepped closer. "Don't lie to me."
Scarlet's breath caught.
"How—how could you possibly know what I remember?"
"Because I was there," he said, voice roughened for the first time. "I know what you saw. I know what you heard. I know what happened to you."
He leaned closer, and she felt the warmth of him like a forbidden pull.
"And I know what you felt."
Scarlet's pulse spiked. "Stay back."
His expression changed—subtle but undeniable. A shift she didn't understand.
"You were scared," he said. "But not of me."
She swallowed hard.
"You don't know anything about me," she whispered.
He stared at her with devastating certainty. "I know enough."
The air felt too heavy, too charged. She forced herself to breathe.
"Start talking," she said. "Start explaining. Everything."
He held her gaze for a long, tense second.
Then he nodded once.
"Not here," he repeated.
He reached into his coat again—not fast, not threatening, but smooth, controlled. He pulled out a small, folded piece of paper and handed it to her.
She hesitated before taking it.
"Go there tonight," he said. "Alone."
Scarlet opened the paper.
An address.
Nothing else.
She looked back up. "And if I don't?"
His expression didn't change. But his voice did.
"If you don't," he said softly, "you won't live long enough to understand why you should have."
Her pulse pounded.
She stepped back, gripping the paper tightly. "Why me? Why all this?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"Because someone chose you," he said. "And I intend to find out why."
Scarlet stared at him.
"Tell me your name," she said finally.
He didn't hesitate.
"Adrian," he said. "Adrian Vale."
Her breath caught.
His name felt like a spark against dry tinder—too familiar, too close to something she almost remembered.
She took another step back. "Stay away from me."
Adrian didn't move. "That's not possible."
"Why?"
His answer was low.
"Because they're coming, Scarlet. And you're the only person I can't afford to lose again."
She turned and walked away, forcing herself not to run.
But she felt his gaze burning into her back until she rounded the corner.
Only then did she exhale—long, shaky, disbelieving.
She unfolded the paper again.
The address blurred for a moment as her eyes stung unexpectedly.
She blinked the heat away.
She didn't trust him.
She didn't believe him.
She didn't even understand him.
But something deeper than logic whispered a chilling truth:
She would go.
She already knew she would.
Because the city's shadows had started moving.
The serpent symbol appeared wherever she turned.
Her memory was cracking open like thin ice under pressure.
And the man she didn't remember knowing…
…spoke to her like he'd memorized her heartbeat.
Scarlet folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket.
If the truth was waiting for her at that address—
Then the truth would find her ready.