Snow burned when it hit my skin.
That was the first thing I noticed after she pulled away.
Not the sound of the city.Not the sirens.Not even the blood seeping under my ribs.
The snow.
Cold enough to hurt. Sharp enough to wake something that had been sleeping inside me for years.
Her lips were still warm.
That shouldn't be possible.
I had kissed her without thinking. Without permission. Without strategy. It wasn't planned, wasn't calculated, wasn't controlled. One second she was standing there—furious, shaking, silver eyes blazing—and the next, instinct took over.
Her body had gone still.
Not soft. Not weak.
Electric.
Like touching a live wire wrapped in skin.
And then—
SLAP.
The sound cut through the storm like a gunshot.
My head snapped to the side. Pain flared along my jaw, sharp and clean. Snow scattered as I took a step back, more surprised than hurt.
She was breathing hard. Chest rising fast. Eyes wide, shining—not with fear, but with something broken and furious.
"That was for pretending you could ever feel."
Her voice shook.
Not weak.Wounded.
The words hit harder than the slap.
Before I could answer, she turned.
Boots crushed ice. Metal door slammed. The engine screamed to life.
And just like that—
She vanished into the storm.
For a long second, I didn't move.
Snow settled on my coat. Melted against my skin. Blood from my side warmed the fabric, spreading slowly, quietly.
I didn't care.
My fingers lifted on their own.
I touched my lips.
Once.
The taste was still there.
Not sweet. Not soft.
Real.
Truth has a taste. I'd forgotten that.
I clenched my hand into a fist.
Something ugly stirred beneath my ribs. Not rage alone. Not desire alone.
Possession.
Curiosity.
Something ancient and violent that didn't like being denied.
I turned slowly, scanning the empty street. Neon signs flickered above wet asphalt. Snow spiraled in thick sheets, hiding her path, erasing her trail.
She thought she'd escaped.
No.
She'd just started something she didn't understand.
I tapped my comm.
"Find her."
My voice was calm. Too calm.
A pause. Then: "Alive?"
I smiled.
"Alive," I said. "And trembling."
Engines roared in the distance.
The hunt began.
I got into the car without looking back.
The city moved around me, breathing neon and smoke, humming with power. Virelia never slept—it watched. It remembered.
And tonight, it had noticed her.
The car accelerated, tires screaming against ice. Pain throbbed at my side now, sharp enough to remind me I was bleeding. I pressed a hand to the wound, felt warmth under my glove.
Good.
Pain kept things clear.
My mind replayed the moment again. Her eyes. The way her body had reacted before her mind caught up. The way she tasted like—
I stopped the thought.
Dangerous thoughts lead to mistakes.
And yet…
Why did she feel familiar?
That question scratched at the back of my skull, refusing to stay quiet.
I opened a private channel.
"Pull everything," I ordered. "Traffic cams. Biometric scans. Old files. Unregistered data. I want ghosts too."
"Yes, sir."
Snow blurred the city into streaks of light. Somewhere ahead, she was running. Fast. Smart.
But fear wasn't driving her.
Anger was.
That made her unpredictable.
That made her interesting.
We reached the tower.
My people moved fast. Efficient. Silent.
Inside, glass walls reflected fractured versions of me. Bloodied coat. Dark eyes. A man who looked in control.
I wasn't.
I went straight to the window.
The city stretched below, endless and sharp. Snow fell heavier here, settling on broken glass edges like delicate lies.
Someone handed me a rose.
Red. Fresh. Thorns intact.
I don't remember asking for it.
I held it loosely, watching snowflakes melt on its petals.
"Sir," a guard said carefully. "She's gone. No trace."
I nodded.
"Good."
He hesitated. "Should we—"
"Let her run."
The words came easily.
"The deeper she goes," I continued, staring out into the storm, "the closer she gets to the truth."
My fingers tightened.
The stem snapped.
Thorns bit into my palm. Blood welled up, dark and slow, mixing with crushed petals.
"And when she's broken enough," I said quietly, "I'll be there to rebuild her."
My way.
The guard swallowed and stepped back.
Alone again, I opened my hand.
Blood and red petals clung to my skin.
Beautiful. Ruined. Still alive.
Just like her.
A faint pulse flared at my wrist.
The brand.
I hadn't looked at it in years.
A broken wing, burned into flesh, hidden beneath tailored sleeves and power.
I traced it slowly.
Memory stirred. Not clear. Not whole.
But hers matched.
I was certain of it.
"We were never strangers," I murmured to the glass, to the storm, to the city that had finally given me something worth chasing.
Snow kept falling.
Somewhere out there, a silver-haired girl was driving through the night, thinking she'd won.
I smiled.
Wings always return.
Even when they're broken.
And when she does—
I'll be waiting.