Chapter Sixteen: The Stranger's Warning

The wind howled through the shattered windows, rain slashing against the wooden floor.

Elena's breath came in short, uneven bursts.

The woman stood at the threshold of the farmhouse, her coat dripping, her eyes wild with something unspoken. The way she looked at Leon—not with fear, but with deep, seething anger—sent a shiver down Elena's spine.

Leon, however, remained calm.

Too calm.

"Elena." His voice was low, steady. "Give me the box."

Her hands tightened around it.

The woman took a step closer, eyes flashing. "Don't."

Elena hesitated. The weight of the wooden box seemed heavier now, as if something inside was pressing against her palms.

She swallowed. "Who are you?"

The woman ignored her, never taking her gaze off Leon. "I told you before," she said, voice tight. "Some things should stay buried."

Elena's pulse quickened.

"Before?"

Leon shifted slightly, his expression unreadable. "And I told you," he murmured, "I don't take orders."

A crack of thunder shook the farmhouse.

Elena's grip on the box faltered. There was something between them, something old and dangerous, a history she wasn't privy to.

The woman clenched her fists. "You don't understand what you're doing."

Leon smiled.

But there was no warmth behind it.

"Don't I?" he asked.

The woman exhaled sharply, her frustration barely contained. Then—without warning—she turned to Elena.

"Elena," she said, voice urgent, "you have to listen to me. You don't know what's in that box, but he—" She motioned toward Leon. "He does. And he's lying to you."

Elena felt her stomach drop.

Leon's jaw tightened. "Careful."

The woman ignored him. She reached out, fingers brushing the wooden lid. "If you open this, you'll never be able to take it back."

Elena swallowed hard.

The storm raged outside. The house creaked, as if it, too, was waiting.

Then—Leon moved.

Fast. Too fast.

Before Elena could react, he was between them, his hand closing over the woman's wrist.

His grip looked gentle. But the way she winced said otherwise.

"You're making a mistake," she whispered.

Leon tilted his head, studying her. Then, softly—too softly—he said, "I don't make mistakes."

A flicker of something dark passed through the woman's gaze.

And for the first time, Elena realized—

She wasn't afraid of him.

She was afraid of what he might remember.

The air was thick, charged with something unseen. Elena's fingers dug into the wooden edges of the box.

She had a choice.

To believe the stranger.

Or to trust Leon.

The decision weighed on her.

And the longer she waited, the louder the whisper became.

"Don't let him see."