Shadows of the Past

The night air was crisp, but Evelyn barely felt it.

She and Damien moved through the dimly lit streets, their footsteps soft against the uneven stone paths. The city was quieter now, the late hours pushing most citizens indoors. Even the usual night watch patrols were sparse, as if something had pulled them away.

Or perhaps Velthorne had ordered them to stay out of his way.

Evelyn's thoughts churned. Her mind was still caught between past and present, between reality and the dreams she couldn't quite grasp.

The feeling of a hand pulling her up after she had fallen. A voice—encouraging, teasing.

And then the whisper, the same thought that had haunted her since they left the estate:

Where are you now, when I need you?

She didn't know who she was speaking to. But she knew the feeling was real.

Damien walked beside her, his usual smirk absent. He wasn't speaking, wasn't cracking jokes. And that meant he was thinking too much.

"You're quiet," Evelyn muttered.

Damien's silver eyes flicked toward her. "So are you."

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "I have a lot to think about."

Damien smirked faintly. "That's dangerous."

She shot him a glare. "One day, I will stab you."

"You already have."

Her lips twitched. "Not hard enough."

His smirk widened just a little, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

Evelyn let the silence stretch between them before finally saying, "I need answers, Damien."

He didn't respond.

She pushed forward. "About her. About what I've forgotten."

This time, Damien's expression darkened. "It won't change anything."

Evelyn stopped walking. "It'll change everything."

Damien turned to face her, his gaze unreadable.

Evelyn felt her heart pound in her chest.

"Just tell me one thing," she said, voice quieter now. "Did she die saving you?"

Damien's breath caught for just a second.

And then—so soft she almost missed it—he whispered, "Yes."

The weight of that single word hit her like a blow.

She had known. Somewhere, deep inside, she had always known.

And yet—hearing it from him made it real.

She clenched her fists. "Then why are you still alive?"

Damien's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because Velthorne made sure of it."

A cold chill raced down her spine.

She was about to press further when she heard it—the faintest shift in the wind, the whisper of movement from above.

Evelyn tensed. "We're being followed."

Damien's smirk returned, but this time it was sharper. "Took them long enough."

Evelyn exhaled, gripping the hilt of her sword. "What's the plan?"

"We make them regret it."

Then, everything erupted into chaos.

A blade whistled through the air.

Evelyn dodged just in time, twisting as a shadow lunged at her from the rooftops.

Her sword was already drawn before her feet even hit the ground.

Two more figures dropped down, cloaks billowing.

Damien was already moving. He disappeared into the shadows, reappearing behind one of the attackers before they even realized he was there.

His dagger found flesh.

A choked gasp. A body hitting the ground.

Evelyn had no time to react to that. She parried a strike, stepping back as the second enemy lunged for her.

Fast. Trained. But predictable.

She let him overextend. Twisted at the last second. And then she drove her elbow into his ribs.

The man crumpled.

Damien caught another attacker by the wrist, twisting until the crack of bone echoed through the alley. The man let out a strangled cry, dropping his weapon.

"Sloppy," Damien murmured.

The last of them hesitated—and then ran.

Evelyn let him go.

Damien, however, sighed. "Coward."

Evelyn sheathed her blade, scanning the bodies. "Velthorne's men?"

Damien crouched beside one of them, plucking a silver insignia from their belt. He held it up to the moonlight.

Velthorne's crest.

Evelyn's stomach twisted.

She had fought for this man. She had once trusted him.

And now, his soldiers were hunting them down like prey.

Damien stood, flicking the blood off his blade. "We need to move. If Velthorne knows we're alive, he won't stop sending people after us."

Evelyn swallowed hard. "Where are we going?"

Damien glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

"To get your memories back."

They moved through the abandoned part of the city, where crumbling buildings and forgotten streets lay beneath a sky thick with mist.

Damien led her to a small, hidden entrance beneath a collapsed bridge.

Evelyn frowned. "You know this place."

"I know a lot of places," Damien muttered, pushing aside old debris. "This one just happens to have answers."

Evelyn stepped forward—and then froze.

The moment her boot hit the ground, something pulled at her mind.

A memory.

A voice.

"Don't follow orders blindly, Evelyn. Strength means nothing without purpose."

Her breath hitched.

That voice.

She knew that voice.

A rush of images flooded her mind.

A girl standing beside her, smirking as she handed her a wooden sword.

The weight of exhaustion after a long day of training, the sound of her laugh, the way she always pushed Evelyn forward.

A name.

So close—just out of reach.

Evelyn's knees buckled, her hands pressing to her temples.

She could almost see her.

She could almost remember.

And then—

Pain.

A blinding, searing pain in her skull, like something was forcing her to forget.

Evelyn gasped, stumbling forward.

Damien caught her before she fell.

"Hey. Breathe."

She did. Barely.

Her breath came ragged, her vision blurred.

Damien didn't let go, didn't push her for answers.

He just waited.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. "Someone took my memories."

Damien exhaled. "Yeah. I know."

Her gaze snapped up to his. "How?"

Damien hesitated.

And then—his voice soft, but certain:

"Because I was there when it happened."

Evelyn stilled.

She stared at him, her heart pounding.

"What did they do to me?" she whispered.

Damien didn't answer.

Because whatever the truth was—it was worse than she could have imagined.