Chapter Nineteen: Caught in the Storm

Elena's lungs burned as she ran.

The storm lashed against her skin, the wind tearing at her clothes, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.

The box felt heavier in her arms, as if something inside was fighting against her grip. The whispers twisted in her ears, rising and falling like a voice just beyond understanding.

But it wasn't the storm or the whispers that sent ice down her spine.

It was him.

She couldn't see him.

She could feel him.

Leon was close.

The moment she hit the edge of the trees, she risked a glance over her shoulder—

And her breath caught.

He was there.

A blur in the rain.

Too fast. Too inhuman.

She barely had time to react before—

A hand closed around her wrist.

She gasped, yanked back with impossible force. The box nearly slipped from her arms as she stumbled, the cold weight of Leon's presence pressing against her.

"Elena."

His voice was low, almost drowned out by the storm.

She twisted in his grip, but he was too strong. The shadows around them shifted, curling at the edges of his coat, moving like something alive.

"Elena." His voice was low, almost drowned out by the storm.

She struggled, but he didn't let go. His fingers tightened around her wrist—not bruising, not cruel, but unyielding.

"You shouldn't have run," he murmured.

Elena's heart slammed against her ribs. He wasn't even out of breath.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating his face.

His eyes—black as the void.

The shadows curled at his feet, reaching toward her like tendrils. The storm wasn't what she needed to fear. It was him.

"I told you," Leon said softly, his grip unwavering, "this was never yours to take."

Elena's pulse thundered.

She yanked back harder, her breath coming in short gasps. "Let me go."

Leon exhaled, as if he expected this. His free hand lifted—reaching, gentle—toward the box.

"Elena," he said again, his voice like silk over steel, "give it to me."

She shook her head.

Something inside her screamed that if she handed it over—she'd never know the truth.

The whispers twisted.

The wind howled.

Then—something changed.

The box shifted.

Not in her grip. In his.

Leon inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching as if he'd just felt something unexpected.

His grip on her wrist loosened.

Elena didn't waste a second.

She tore herself free, stumbling backward into the rain, clutching the box to her chest.

Leon didn't move.

He stared at the box—not at her, at it. His expression was unreadable.

"Elena…" His voice was quieter now, but there was something in it. Something dark.

Before he could reach for her again, she turned—and ran.

This time, he didn't chase her.

But she could still feel him watching.