The storm arrived uninvited, like most dangerous things in Seraphina's life.
Dark clouds rolled in fast over the city skyline, swallowing sunlight in long, heavy gulps. Rain began with a whisper on the Vale Mansion's windows, then turned to furious drumming. The kind of storm that felt personal. as if it were trying to wash something clean. Or bury it deeper.
She stood in the library alone, tracing her fingers along the spine of an old book, one she hadn't picked, one that had simply fallen from the shelf when she walked past.
It was bound in worn green leather. Blank spine. A smell of crushed herbs and fire.
Inside the cover, there were no publishing details, no title. Just a name scrawled across the first page in charcoal ink:
S. Belladore
Her hand trembled. She hadn't heard that name in this life. Not aloud. Not even in her own thoughts.
And yet it called to her like a second heartbeat.
"Celeste?"
Lucien's voice snapped her back.
He was standing in the doorway, soaked to the elbows. Raindrops clung to his collar, darkening the fabric of his shirt. For a man of sharp edges and unreadable eyes, today something had shifted. His hair was slightly mussed. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the veined tension in his forearms.
He didn't look like a devil in silk today.
He looked like a man who hadn't slept.
Seraphina snapped the book shut. "Don't you knock?"
He stepped in without answering. His gaze flicked to the book in her hands. "What's that?"
"A relic," she said simply. "You have so many lying around."
Lucien watched her a moment longer, then stepped closer. "Something's coming."
"It's already here," she replied, gesturing to the storm.
"No," he said. "Not the rain."
Before she could ask what he meant, a knock echoed from the main entrance downstairs. Slow, Deliberate. Not the usual flutter of staff or guests.
Lucien went still.
Seraphina did too.
A beat passed. Then another.
And then, something in her blood began to thrum.
Magic. Old, Familiar, Dangerous.
She left the room before he could stop her.
The front door groaned open.
The man who stood in the threshold was not what she expected.
He was laughing.
Soaked to the bone, wearing a midnight blue coat, tousled copper-brown curls matted to his forehead, and eyes the color of melting silver wild and glinting like a storm of their own.
He held a bouquet of half crushed wildflowers in one hand, the stems trailing rainwater down his arm.
"Darling," he said to her, "you look different. But still annoyingly beautiful."
Seraphina froze.
The flowers dropped to the floor.
"…Riven?"
He grinned, eyes bright. "I was beginning to think you hadn't made it back this time."
Lucien stepped into view behind her, and Riven's smile dropped instantly.
"Oh," he said, eyeing the taller man. "This one again."
"You know him?" Lucien asked, voice low, sharp.
Seraphina didn't answer.
Riven, however, did. "I've known her across three lifetimes, Vale. Can you say the same?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "Who are you?"
But Seraphina wasn't looking at him.
She was staring at Riven, at his eyes, at the faded burn scar just under his collarbone. She remembered putting it there. In another life. In a fight. A kiss. A farewell.
And then she remembered his scream when the fire took their coven.
"I thought you died," she whispered.
Riven shrugged. "I did. But you know me, Bells, I never stay gone long."
Lucien turned sharply to her. "What did he just call you?"
Seraphina didn't answer.
Riven gave Lucien a mock innocent look. "You mean 'Bells'? It's short for Belladore. Or did you think 'Celeste' was her real name?"
Something ancient and silent cracked between them.
Seraphina stepped forward. "Why are you here?"
"To warn you," Riven said simply. "You're in the middle of something you don't understand."
Lucien bristled. "And you do?"
Riven tilted his head. "I remember who she was. Do you?"
Silence.
The three of them stood in a delicate triangle one forged in secrets, memory, and unfinished things.
Then Lucien turned and walked out without another word.
Seraphina stared after him, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.
Riven sighed and picked up the flowers. "Still brooding and dramatic. Some things don't change."
She finally looked at him. Really looked.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," he said softly. "But here we are."
They sat across from each other in the music room, the storm hissing against the windows.
Riven handed her a piece of parchment, half burned at the edges.
his was left on the old altar," he said. "Your altar. After you died."
It was a protection rune. In her own hand. Marked with blood.
"I don't remember this," she said.
"You're not supposed to," Riven said. "Not yet."
Seraphina traced the edges of the parchment. "Why did it bring me back? Why this life?"
He met her eyes. "Because the person who killed us… is still alive."
Her breath caught.
You think it was Lucien? she whispered.
I don't think, he said. "I know."
"But he… he doesn't remember."
Riven leaned forward, voice dropping. "That's how it always starts."
Later, when she returned to her chambers, the book was gone.
The one with her name in it.
Lucien was waiting for her inside.
He didn't speak right away.
He just handed her the book, opened to the first page.
"S. Belladore."
Her heart dropped.
"Who are you really?" he asked again, voice quiet. Not angry. Just tired.
She looked at him for a long time.
Then finally said: "Someone who used to be burned alive."
Lucien flinched.
She stepped past him and closed the book gently.
"We all wear masks, Lucien. Yours just fits better than mine."