Chapter 11: Shadows Between Us

Seraphina hadn't spoken of the vision since that night.

She told herself she needed time—to separate reality from illusion, to decide who to trust. But the more she tried to push it away, the more it pressed in on her, an unrelenting whisper at the edges of her mind.

And then there was him.

Raziel.

He had let her leave that night without a fight, but his presence hadn't faded. She could still feel it—an invisible tether pulling at something deep inside her. He had unlocked something she wasn't ready to face, and yet… she couldn't escape the truth:

He wasn't a stranger.

She just didn't remember why.

—❖—

Lysander found her at dawn.

The training grounds were empty save for the two of them. The sky was streaked with the first hints of light, but Seraphina had been awake long before then, blades slicing through the crisp morning air.

She welcomed the burn in her muscles, the distraction of movement, the clarity of battle. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

But Lysander had never been one to let her run from them.

"You're pushing too hard," he said, stepping into the circle of sand.

Seraphina didn't lower her sword. "Since when do you worry about that?"

His golden eyes studied her. "Since you started fighting like you're trying to outrun something."

She exhaled sharply, gripping her blade tighter. "I'm fine."

Lysander tilted his head. "You haven't been fine since you heard his name."

The words hit like a strike to the ribs.

Seraphina's jaw tensed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "Don't I?"

She turned away, refusing to meet his stare. But he stepped closer, closing the space between them.

"I know you, Seraphina," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "You're not reckless. You don't let ghosts haunt you. But ever since he appeared, you've been slipping. Distracted."

She forced a breath. "I'm not distracted."

"Then look at me," he said.

She hesitated—too long.

And when she finally met his gaze, his fingers brushed her wrist, barely a touch, but enough to send a shiver through her.

"Let me help you," Lysander said, his voice quiet, intimate. "Whatever he's doing to you—I won't let him take you from me."

A strange pang settled in her chest.

This was Lysander—the one person who had stood beside her through war, through bloodshed, through victories and losses alike. The one who had always understood her, even when no one else did.

She should trust him.

But for the first time, doubt crept in.

She pulled away. "I don't need saving."

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "That's not what I meant."

But something in his voice told her otherwise.

—❖—

Later that night, Seraphina couldn't sleep.

The wind howled outside her chamber windows, rattling against the stone. She sat by the fire, staring at the flickering flames, trying to make sense of the storm inside her.

She had spent years knowing exactly where she stood—who she trusted, what she fought for.

Now, everything felt uncertain.

A whisper stirred in her mind.

You feel it, don't you?

Her breath caught.

Raziel.

His presence curled around her, dark and familiar.

Seraphina's fingers tightened against her palm. "Get out of my head."

A quiet chuckle. If I wanted to control you, Seraphina, I wouldn't need to invade your thoughts.

She gritted her teeth. "Then what do you want?"

You already know the answer to that.

Her pulse pounded. "I don't know anything."

Not yet.

His voice was lower now, closer, wrapping around her like silk. But you will.

Seraphina swallowed hard, her heart racing against her ribs. "You speak as if you know me."

A pause. Then—

I do.

The words sent a tremor through her.

She should have fought against them, should have rejected the claim outright. But the worst part—the most terrifying part—was that a part of her believed him.

Even when she didn't want to.

Even when she shouldn't.

The fire crackled. The shadows shifted.

And somewhere in the distance, Lysander watched.

—❖—