He stared at the photo of her, as if he'd seen that fire before.
As if the memory of it lived behind his eyes.
As if he'd stood in the smoke with her and watched it all burn.
Elira didn't move. Neither did he.
For a second, the room was a painting — two ghosts trapped in the same frame, both pretending to be made of flesh.
"I never told anyone about that night," she said, her voice quiet but not soft.
Azriel didn't look away. "You didn't have to."
That stopped her breath for a second. She watched him, waiting for a crack in his armor. But his gaze stayed fixed on the photo. The flames reflected in his irises like a memory he hadn't buried deep enough.
"You were there?" she asked.
Azriel exhaled through his nose. "No. But I know who was."
Something in her chest twisted.
He gently placed the photo down on the table, aligning the edges perfectly. "This was meant to remind you. Not me."
"Remind me of what?"
"That you're still being hunted."
The silence in the room thickened, heavy with unspoken truths.
Elira stepped forward slowly, her boots soundless on the cold floor. "You knew. From the start. Didn't you?"
He looked up at her then, the mask slipping just slightly.
"You think I saved you because I'm noble?" he said, a hollow laugh in his throat. "No. I saved you because I've seen what they do to girls like you. What they've done before. What they planned to do again."
Her breath hitched.
"How many are on that list?" she asked.
Azriel's jaw tensed.
"You don't want to know."
"I do."
He looked away. "More than I could stop. Less than I should have."
They didn't speak for a while.
The air between them shifted, no longer strangers, but still not allies. Something else entirely. Two dangerous creatures caught in the same storm, circling each other with teeth bared and hearts locked in cages.
"You think I'm part of them," Azriel said after a while. "You think I'm one of the monsters."
Elira tilted her head slightly. "Are you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked toward her. Slow. Careful. Like approaching a wildfire with his bare hands.
He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the tension stitched into every breath.
"I was raised by them," he said. "But I don't belong to them."
She didn't move.
He leaned in. Voice low. Dangerous.
"I don't belong to anyone."
Their eyes playing games when she said, "....well, I don't think so." She turned on her heels and went. Went without glancing back.
Later that night, her dorm was too quiet.
Elira sat on the windowsill, watching shadows stretch long across the quad. The school was sleeping. But she wasn't.
She couldn't.
The fire in that photo—it hadn't been an accident. She knew that now.
She remembered the face of the man who stood at the edge of the blaze, silver ring flashing in the light of burning walls. Watching. Smiling.
Her hands tightened on the window ledge.
That man worked for the Moreaux family.
And Azriel Moreaux just handed her a loaded truth.
Two hours later, she crept through the campus tunnels.
The underground surveillance room Azriel had taken her to was locked. But she had her own ways.
Inside, the monitors flickered with life. One by one.
Most were empty.
Except one.
A girl. Ivy Korrin.
Elira frowned. She remembered her. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Never stayed long in one place.
The screen showed Ivy entering the east wing of the dorms. The abandoned section.
The timestamp was from less than thirty minutes ago.
Elira didn't hesitate.
She found the hallway dark, flickering lights barely holding back the shadows.
Room 112.
Unlocked.
Inside, everything was neat. Too neat.
But the smell hit her first — metallic, sharp, fresh.
Elira turned slowly. Her eyes landed on the bed.
A single white box sat on the pillow.
She approached carefully, her instincts screaming.
Inside the box, wrapped in silk, was a single object.
A heart.
Still warm.
And carved into the lid of the box, etched deep in the wood: "LIAR."
She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
Elira Vale just burned.
She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, blood boiling.
Someone was playing a game. Someone who knew everything.
About the fire.
About the list.
About Azriel.
And about her.
Back in the observatory, he was already waiting.
As if he knew she'd come.
Azriel stood in the fractured moonlight, a fresh bruise forming on his cheek.
"What happened?" she demanded.
His eyes were dark. "You saw it."
"She's dead. Her heart was left as a gift."
Azriel nodded once. "I know."
She stepped closer. "You're running out of time, Azriel. So tell me what the hell this is. Who's doing this?"
He looked at her for a long time before answering.
Then he said quietly, "This is revenge."
"Whose?"
A pause. Then—
"Ours."
He handed her something.
A USB drive.
"Everything is on here," he said. "About the list. The experiments. The disappearances. The fire."
She stared at it. "You had this the whole time?"
"I was waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to remember who you are."
She left without saying another word.
But she didn't go back to her dorm.
She went to the chapel ruins.
Where the first body had been found.
Where Ivy's scarf now hung from the broken altar.
There, hidden beneath the floorboards, she found the second box.
This one didn't contain a heart.
It contained a picture.
Of her mother.
Tied to a chair.
Still alive.
Elira staggered back, knees nearly buckling.
She clutched the photo like it could bleed truth.
She'd buried her mother. Hadn't she?
Or had she only buried the lie they gave her?
She didn't remember running. Didn't remember arriving back at the surveillance room.
Only Azriel's voice cut through the fog.
"They kept her alive," he said, already watching the screen. "As leverage."
"Why?"
"Because your mother knew something. Something about their plan. Something about the girl they failed to kill."
Elira's hands shook. "Me."
He nodded.
Then, softly: "You weren't their target, Elira. You were the weapon."
The screen flickered again.
A live feed.
Of a room underground.
Cold walls. Dim lights. And a woman chained to a metal chair.
Elira gasped.
Her mother.
Azriel placed a hand on her shoulder.
"She's being held beneath the west wing."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I needed to know if you were ready."
She turned to him, eyes burning.
"And now?"
Azriel's gaze was steel.
"Now I need you to burn it all down."
But before she could respond—an explosion rocked the room.
Sparks. Alarms. Monitors going black one by one.
Azriel shoved her back. "Get out!"
A metal door slammed shut behind them. Gas began to hiss from the vents.
Someone had triggered the kill switch.
Elira kicked the door. "There's no lock!"
Azriel cursed, yanking at a panel. "Backup power. Give me sixty seconds."
The lights flickered.
A voice filled the room — mechanical, distorted.
"You think this is your story, Elira? You were never the writer. Only the ending."
She screamed into the dark. "Who are you?!"
"The one who lit the first match."
"The one who finished your father."
"The one who's holding your mother."
"And soon—"
A gunshot. The speakers burst into static.
Azriel turned, face bloodied, hand smoking from a second pistol.
"Elira—run."
But she didn't run.
She grabbed the drive and ran toward the flames.
————
To be continued ❤️🔥