Eva stood frozen.
The knock had stopped. The air felt wrong—too thick, too charged, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath.
Lucien's voice had come from the other side of the door. But she knew—somehow, impossibly—that if she opened it, he wouldn't be there.
She reached for the handle anyway.
The door creaked as it swung inward.
The hallway was empty.
No footsteps fading down the corridor. No echo of movement. Just silence.
But the air smelled different now—rain-soaked earth, something deep and ancient, like the damp musk of a forest at midnight. A scent that didn't belong here.
Eva took a step forward—and her vision blurred.
For a moment, the hallway wasn't her building anymore. The walls stretched, darkened, taking on the shape of massive stone archways, the glow of unseen firelight flickering against the cold surfaces. A shadow moved at the end of the corridor, just out of reach—
And then, just as quickly, it was gone.
She stumbled back, heart hammering. The hallway was normal again. The beige walls, the dim overhead light. But her stomach churned with wrongness.
And then she felt it.
A breath against her ear.
"You're seeing it now, aren't you?"
She turned, and Lucien was there.
Standing inside her apartment.
He hadn't walked in. He had simply—appeared.
Eva sucked in a breath, backing away instinctively. His eyes glowed faintly, a molten eclipse trapped in the dim light. The scent of rain and forest deepened, wrapping around her like a presence of its own.
"How did you get in?" she whispered.
Lucien smiled, slow and knowing. "I was always here."
Her pulse pounded. "That's not possible."
"Isn't it?"
The air crackled between them. Not with tension. With energy. Something unseen, something ancient pressed at the edges of the room, like the apartment itself was struggling to contain what he was.
Lucien took a step closer. His movements were too smooth, too effortless, as if gravity itself had loosened its grip on him.
Eva's breath came shallow. She should run. She should scream.
But something about him—his presence, his gaze, the way the air thickened in his wake—held her in place.
"You're starting to remember, aren't you?" Lucien murmured.
A pulse of something deep and primal thrummed inside her.
And then—a flash.
Not her memories. Not her thoughts.
A forest drenched in moonlight. The feeling of rough bark beneath her fingertips. A voice whispering her name—not from this moment, but from another time, another life.
Her breath caught.
Lucien was still watching her, his expression unreadable.
"You know me, Eva. You always have."
And in that moment, she realized with terrifying certainty—he was right.