The night was colder than usual. A sharp breeze swept through the village, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Phileo barely noticed.
He stood at the edge of town, leaning against the railing of an abandoned house. From here, he had a clear view of the inn where Evelyne was staying. The candle in her window still burned.
She was awake.
Phileo exhaled slowly, adjusting the hood of his cloak. She had found him too soon.
For twelve years, he had remained in the shadows, watching from a distance. He had made sure she was safe, but never close enough to be seen. He had convinced himself that was enough.
And yet, here she was—chasing ghosts.
His hand tightened into a fist. He should leave. He should disappear before she started asking the wrong questions. Before she remembered too much.
But he didn't move.
His storm-gray eyes lingered on the flickering candlelight in her window.
"She won't stop now," he thought.
He had seen it in her eyes that afternoon—determination. She wouldn't give up until she had her answers.
A part of him respected that.
A bigger part of him feared it.
A movement in the darkness pulled him from his thoughts. His instincts sharpened immediately.
Beyond the village, near the tree line, a figure moved.
Phileo straightened, his body tensing. Someone was watching the inn.
His grip shifted to the hilt of his sword.
"I'm not the only one keeping an eye on her."
The figure moved again—tall, cloaked, deliberate. They weren't a lost traveler. They were waiting. Watching.
For her.
Phileo's jaw tightened.
He stepped off the porch, moving soundlessly toward the trees. His long hair shifted slightly in the wind, but he ignored it. Every step was calculated, controlled. He had spent years perfecting the art of moving unseen.
The figure didn't notice him until it was too late.
Phileo struck swiftly, seizing the stranger's arm and twisting it behind their back. A sharp gasp escaped them as they stumbled forward, off balance.
"Who sent you?" Phileo's voice was quiet, but laced with warning.
The cloaked figure struggled for a moment before going still. Then, a chuckle.
"You're faster than I expected."
Phileo's grip didn't loosen. "And you're sloppier than I expected."
The man sighed, shaking his head. "Still as cold as ever, I see."
That voice.
Phileo narrowed his eyes, then yanked the hood down.
Beneath it was a familiar face—a man with sharp green eyes, a cocky smirk, and a scar running down his left cheek.
Dorian.
Phileo's grip tightened. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet, here I am." Dorian's smirk didn't waver. "Let me go, will you? My shoulder's getting sore."
Phileo hesitated before releasing him.
Dorian rolled his shoulder with an exaggerated wince. "You never change."
Phileo ignored the remark. "Why are you here?"
Dorian dusted off his cloak, his expression growing more serious. "Word is spreading, Phileo. Someone else is looking for her."
Phileo's eyes darkened. "Who?"
Dorian shook his head. "Not sure yet. But they're not just asking about her. They're asking about you."
Phileo's fingers twitched toward his sword.
Dorian sighed. "Look, I know you don't trust me—"
"I don't," Phileo cut in.
Dorian smirked. "Fair. But trust me on this—whatever's coming, you won't be able to avoid it this time."
Phileo glanced toward the inn, toward the flickering candlelight in Evelyne's window.
He already knew that.
The night pressed in around them, thick with the scent of damp earth and burning wood from distant chimneys. Phileo kept his stance firm, eyes locked on Dorian.
The other man was watching him closely, measuring him like he always did.
"You look worse than last time," Dorian remarked, crossing his arms. "Still losing sleep over her?"
Phileo's expression didn't change. "You talk too much."
"And you still avoid answering." Dorian sighed. "Come on, Phileo. You knew this day would come. The past doesn't stay buried forever."
Phileo remained silent.
Dorian took a step closer. "She doesn't know, does she?"
"No," Phileo said flatly.
"And you plan to keep it that way?"
Phileo didn't answer.
Dorian let out a low whistle. "You're setting yourself up for disaster, you know that?"
Phileo's grip on his sword tightened. "I don't need your advice."
"You need something." Dorian's voice turned serious. "You think she'll stop once she gets a taste of the truth? No. She'll keep digging, and the closer she gets, the more dangerous it becomes."
Phileo knew that. He had known from the moment he saw her standing in the marketplace, eyes filled with determination.
But that didn't change anything.
"I can handle it," he said.
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Right. Like how you handled it twelve years ago?"
That struck a nerve.
Phileo's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening.
Dorian's smirk faded. "Look, I came here because I thought you should know—you're not the only one keeping an eye on her. Someone else is watching. Someone with a lot more resources than I have."
"Who?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Phileo exhaled sharply. "Then do it faster."
Dorian chuckled. "Still as pleasant as ever."
Phileo didn't rise to the bait. "Stay out of this, Dorian. This isn't your fight."
Dorian tilted his head. "Isn't it?"
A long silence stretched between them. The night air felt heavier now, thick with unspoken words.
Dorian finally sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. Have it your way. But when this all falls apart, don't say I didn't warn you."
Phileo watched as Dorian turned, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
He stood there for a long moment, staring after him.
Then, without another word, he turned toward the inn.
He wasn't leaving. Not yet.
Because if someone else was looking for Evelyne…
He needed to make sure he got to her first.
Phileo watched the place where Dorian had disappeared, his mind churning.
Dorian was right about one thing—Evelyne wouldn't stop searching. She was stubborn. Determined. And she had already come too close.
Phileo inhaled deeply, then turned back toward the village. His steps were soundless, blending into the night.
He needed to see her.
Not to talk. Not yet. But to make sure she was safe.
Inside the Inn
Evelyne sat by the window, running a finger absentmindedly over the edge of the letter.
She couldn't sleep.
The words wouldn't leave her mind. The memory of Phileo's gaze in the market haunted her. She knew that look.
Recognition.
She had felt it before—when strangers acted too familiar, when someone hesitated before speaking to her, when they looked at her like they knew something she didn't.
Phileo was hiding something.
She pulled a cloak over her shoulders and grabbed her satchel. She had waited long enough. If no one would give her the truth, she would find it herself.
Carefully, she unlatched the window, peering out. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few drunkards stumbling home.
Good.
She swung a leg over the ledge and climbed down the wooden beams, landing lightly on the cobbled street.
The night was colder than she expected.
She pulled her cloak tighter and started walking.
Phileo saw her the moment she stepped outside.
His body tensed.
"Foolish girl."
She was alone. Unarmed. Wandering into the night without a second thought.
He clenched his jaw. She wasn't making this easy.
Silently, he followed.
Evelyne moved with purpose, but her steps were unsure. She didn't know where she was going. She was chasing ghosts, the same way he had once chased redemption.
She turned a corner, entering a quieter part of town where the lanterns barely reached.
Phileo's muscles coiled.
Something wasn't right.
Danger Approaches
Evelyne stopped.
A figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of her.
Tall. Cloaked.
Her stomach twisted.
"Lost, are we?" The man's voice was smooth, almost amused.
Evelyne took a step back. "No."
A chuckle. "Then why is a noble girl wandering around at this hour?"
Evelyne swallowed hard.
She reached for the small dagger she kept in her satchel—but before her fingers could grasp it, the man lunged.
A blur of motion.
A flash of silver.
And then—
The man froze, a sword pressed against his throat.
Phileo.
His grip was steady, his gray eyes cold. "Leave."
The man's confidence wavered. "This isn't your business."
The blade pressed deeper.
The man cursed under his breath, then backed away slowly, disappearing into the night.
Silence fell.
Evelyne let out a shaky breath.
Phileo turned to her, his expression unreadable. "That was reckless."
Evelyne squared her shoulders. "I can take care of myself."
His gaze flickered to her trembling hands. "Clearly."
She hated the way he said it—so certain, so frustratingly calm.
"You were following me," she accused.
"Yes." No hesitation. No denial.
"Why?"
Phileo didn't answer immediately. Then—
"Because you don't know what you're looking for."
Evelyne's heart pounded. "And you do?"
Phileo held her gaze. "Yes."
A tense silence.
Evelyne clenched her fists. "Then tell me."
Phileo exhaled, looking away. "Not here."
Evelyne frowned. "Then where?"
A long pause. Then—
"There's an abandoned chapel in the woods. Meet me there tomorrow."
And before she could protest, he was gone.
Leaving her with nothing but more questions.