The voice froze the air.
"Varek… hand the girl over."
Adrian didn't move.
Not a twitch.
Not a breath.
Not even a flicker in his eyes.
He went utterly, terrifyingly still —
like prey recognizing the exact predator that carved its scars.
Ren whimpered against my shirt.
Even without remembering the past, his body reacted — trembling, shrinking, clinging to my sleeve like he expected the walls to collapse.
"Papa…" he whispered. "No… no… it's him."
Him.
That was all Ren said.
But the way Adrian's jaw clenched —
the way his knuckles whitened around the gun —
the way he positioned himself fully between us and the voice —
Told me everything.
This wasn't just any enemy.
This was the enemy.
The one who burned the hallway.
The one who tore our hands apart.
The one who ended our lives.
I didn't remember his face.
But my heartbeat reacted like my bones did.
Another set of footsteps stepped into the dim light of the underground floor.
The man was tall.
Calm.
Clean.
Like danger had dressed itself in a white shirt and expensive shoes.
His hair slicked back, his expression bored — like he'd come to collect a package, not destroy a life.
He looked at Adrian first.
Not at me.
Not at Ren.
At Adrian.
With a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I was wondering when fate would get lazy," he said, adjusting his cuffs casually.
"Reusing old pieces from a dead timeline? How pathetic."
Adrian's voice came out low, flat, controlled.
"Stay back."
The man didn't.
He took another step toward us, his shoes clicking on the concrete, echoing like a countdown.
Ren choked on a sob.
He clung to my leg so tightly it hurt.
The man tilted his head, observing Ren with mild curiosity.
"Ah. The anomaly," he murmured. "Still alive. Still inconvenient."
Adrian moved.
Not fast —
instant.
He aimed the gun at the man's head.
"If you touch him," Adrian said softly,
"you'll never see another sunrise."
The man smiled.
Smiled.
"Adrian…" he said, almost kindly.
"You always did love making promises you couldn't keep."
Adrian's breath hitched.
Just a fraction.
Barely visible — but there.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For us.
"You killed us," I blurted out.
I don't know where the words came from —
from the memory or the fear or the burning in my chest —
but they flew past my lips before I could think.
"You killed us. Didn't you?"
The man finally looked at me.
And his eyes sharpened with chilling recognition.
"Elara," he said, as if savoring the name.
"You look the same. That's almost… touching."
My stomach twisted violently.
Ren let out another whimper.
"Don't talk to Mama," he whispered, voice tiny but fierce.
The man hummed thoughtfully.
"So the child remembers everything. How inconvenient."
His gaze slid to me.
"And she… remembers just enough."
Adrian took a step forward, gun unwavering.
"Say her name again," he said,
"and I will put a bullet through your skull."
The man sighed.
"You're so emotional these days, Varek. Rebirth hasn't improved you."
Adrian's hand trembled.
He hid it well —
but I saw it.
I stepped closer to him, even though fear poured ice into my veins.
"Adrian," I whispered, "who is he?"
He didn't look at me when he answered.
"Someone you begged me to stay away from… in our last life."
My throat closed.
The man chuckled softly.
"How sweet. He's still quoting you like scripture."
Adrian snapped.
He lunged.
Gun raised, eyes blazing —
he charged at the man with a snarl of pure, unfiltered rage.
The man dodged easily, stepping aside like Adrian was a gust of wind rather than a bullet aimed at his heart.
"You never learn," the man murmured.
His hand moved —
fast, precise —
and slammed into Adrian's jaw with brutal force.
Adrian staggered.
It was the first time I'd seen him lose balance.
"Papa!" Ren screamed.
Adrian wiped blood from his lip and straightened.
No fear.
Only fury.
Only pain.
Only the determination of someone who had died once for someone and was willing to die again.
"Elara," he said, eyes locked on the man but voice meant for me,
"take Ren and run."
"No!" Ren cried. "No no no—Papa—no!"
I shook my head violently.
"I'm not leaving you!"
The man laughed.
A soft, pleased sound.
"I do love when she says that."
Adrian's breath faltered.
His shoulders tensed.
His fear was leaking through the cracks.
"Adrian," I whispered, stepping closer without meaning to,
"What does he want with me?"
The man answered before Adrian could.
"You," he said plainly,
"are the only variable I need to fix."
Fix.
The word tasted like poison.
"What does that mean?" I demanded.
"It means," he said, smiling again,
"you don't belong here."
The floor seemed to drop under me.
Adrian growled —
actually growled —
a sound so raw and animalistic it made the lights flicker.
"You're not taking her," he snarled.
The man sighed, disappointed.
"You keep saying that. Yet I've already taken her once."
Adrian flinched.
A small, sharp, devastating flinch.
And suddenly I saw him.
Not the fighter.
Not the violent calm.
Not the man who moved like darkness made flesh.
But someone grieving.
Someone who watched me die.
Someone who couldn't bear to watch it happen again.
"Adrian," I whispered.
He met my eyes.
And for a split second, I saw every version of him overlapping —
the man from the burning hallway,
the man holding my dying body,
the man who reached across universes to find me.
"Elara," he said softly,
"I'm begging you… take Ren and run."
My heart broke.
"Not without you."
Something in his face shattered —
completely, painfully.
The man clapped once, slow, amused.
"Touching," he murmured.
"Truly. But enough sentiment."
He raised his hand.
Not with a gun.
With something worse—
A small, glowing device pulsing with dim blue light.
Adrian's eyes widened in horror.
"No," he breathed.
"Not that."
Ren screamed.
"Mama—no—run—run—run—!"
Before I could move, before I could breathe, before I could understand—
The man pressed the device.
A wave of blinding white light tore across the concrete—
Straight toward me.
I didn't feel pain.
I didn't feel heat.
I felt—
memory.
A flood of it.
All at once.
Every version of Adrian.
Every version of me.
Every death.
Every kiss.
Every scream.
Everything.