Morning arrived without mercy.
The storm had passed sometime before dawn, but Noctair still looked wounded by it. The streets below the palace cliffs glistened with rainwater and silence, the kind that settles after people have spent the entire night afraid.
And above all of it—
The sky remained empty.
No moon.
Even in daylight, its absence felt wrong.
Like the world was missing one of its eyes.
Seraphine stood at her bedroom mirror fastening the buttons of her academy coat with trembling fingers she pretended not to notice.
She had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him standing beneath the rain again.
Lucien Arden.
Beautiful enough to feel unreal.
Dangerous enough to feel unforgettable.
And worst of all—
Part of her wanted to see him again.
That realization disgusted her a little.
Because nothing about him felt safe.
Not the way he spoke.
Not the way he looked at her like he was already halfway inside her thoughts.
Not the things he knew.
The things that should have been impossible.
"The things that feed on lonely girls."
His voice had lived inside her head all night.
Seraphine pressed both hands against the edge of the vanity table and stared at her reflection.
"You're being ridiculous," she whispered softly to herself.
But the girl in the mirror did not look convinced.
Downstairs, the tailoring shop was unusually quiet.
Her grandmother had barely spoken since Lucien left the night before.
Which frightened Seraphine more than anything else.
Because her grandmother was not easily shaken.
Yet sometime around dawn, Seraphine had woken briefly and found her sitting beside the window holding old silver prayer beads with trembling hands.
Praying.
Her grandmother never prayed.
When Seraphine finally descended the stairs, she found the older woman locking the front door.
Again.
"You're staying home today," her grandmother said immediately.
Seraphine frowned. "I have lectures."
"You're staying home."
The firmness in her tone startled her.
"What exactly are you afraid of?"
Her grandmother's hands tightened around the key.
"Things you do not understand."
"That's not an answer."
"No," the older woman replied quietly. "It's a warning."
The silence afterward felt sharp enough to cut.
Seraphine looked away first.
Because deep down, she already knew something had changed.
The world no longer felt ordinary.
It felt thinner somehow.
Like reality itself had begun cracking quietly at the edges.
A sudden commotion erupted outside.
Voices.
Shouting.
Seraphine moved toward the window instinctively and pulled the curtain aside.
People crowded the street below.
Whispering.
Pointing.
Fear moved through them like disease.
"What happened?" she asked.
Her grandmother didn't answer immediately.
Which meant she already knew.
Finally, quietly:
"Another girl disappeared."
Something cold settled in Seraphine's stomach.
"When?"
"Before sunrise."
The room suddenly felt difficult to breathe inside.
Seraphine turned slowly. "You think it's connected to him."
Her grandmother's expression hardened instantly.
"I think he is connected to things no decent person should ever know."
"But he warned us."
"That does not make him innocent."
The words lingered heavily between them.
Because Seraphine understood something uncomfortable then:
Part of her wanted Lucien to be innocent.
Wanted there to be an explanation that allowed her to keep thinking about him without fear twisting through it.
But every instinct she possessed whispered the same terrible thing.
People like Lucien did not arrive in ordinary lives by accident.
A knock sounded suddenly at the door.
Three slow knocks.
Seraphine's pulse stumbled violently.
Her grandmother went still.
The silence inside the shop deepened instantly.
Then the knock came again.
Measured.
Patient.
As though whoever stood outside already knew they would eventually be invited in.
Her grandmother crossed the room carefully and opened the door only slightly.
And Seraphine's heart betrayed her immediately.
Lucien.
Rain no longer surrounded him this time.
Yet somehow he looked darker in daylight.
More dangerous.
Like the storm had followed him inside instead of remaining in the sky.
His eyes found Seraphine instantly over her grandmother's shoulder.
And the intensity of that gaze made heat crawl slowly beneath her skin.
Not soft heat.
Something worse.
Awareness.
"You shouldn't keep appearing like this," her grandmother said coldly.
Lucien remained calm.
"You locked the door."
"That was intentional."
"And yet," he murmured softly, still looking at Seraphine, "here I am."
Her grandmother stepped forward slightly, blocking the entrance.
"What do you want?"
This time Lucien's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Something colder entered his face.
"The Veil opened wider last night."
Seraphine frowned. "What is the Veil?"
Lucien finally looked at her fully again.
And suddenly the room felt too small for the weight of his attention.
"It's the space between this world," he said quietly, "and the things waiting behind it."
The words should have sounded insane.
Instead, they terrified her because part of her believed them immediately.
Her grandmother's voice sharpened.
"You should leave."
"No."
The answer came too fast.
Too certain.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Lucien stepped inside without permission and shut the door behind him.
The sound echoed through the shop like finality.
Seraphine's breath caught.
Because the look in his eyes had changed again.
Not calmer.
Urgent.
For the first time since meeting him—
He looked afraid.
"They found her scent," he said quietly.
The room went still.
Seraphine frowned slightly. "Whose scent?"
Lucien looked directly at her.
And when he answered, his voice dropped softer than before.
"Yours."