Chapter 12: Between Shadows and Silence
The lower stacks of the university were cloaked in silence, disturbed only by the whisper of shifting paper and the soft echo of footsteps on stone. Candles flickered in sconces along the walls, casting moving shadows that danced over the edges of shelves. Elise moved among them like she belonged there—fluid, composed, as if the quiet itself bowed to her presence.
Lucien lingered near the far archway, his figure half-shrouded in gloom. He'd arrived earlier than usual but found Elise already deep in study, her back turned, posture straight, completely still except for the movement of her hand as she scribbled notes.
Not aimless scribbles. Controlled. Precise.
He stepped closer.
"You're early," he said.
She didn't look up. "So are you."
Lucien took the seat across from her, watching the flick of her pen, the calm in her expression. For a moment, neither spoke.
"You've been thinking," she said at last.
"About patterns," he replied. "How some things loop back again, even when they shouldn't."
She finally looked at him. "You mean people? Or events?"
"Both," Lucien said, leaning back. "But mostly people."
Their eyes met. He expected a flicker of denial, discomfort, confusion.
Instead, she nodded.
"I remember you," she said. "Not all at once. Not clearly. But it came in fragments. Some things I shouldn't have remembered. I knew your cadence before I heard your voice. I knew your silence."
Lucien said nothing. He did not offer comfort. Did not flinch. Only watched.
Elise lowered her gaze. "I used to go by a different name. Yuki."
He absorbed it with the same quiet gravity he gave to every piece of information—but something shifted behind his eyes. Not surprise. Not even confirmation. Recognition.
"You remember the White Room?"
"Most of it," she said. "Enough. Faces. Routines. Pain. Discipline. You." Her voice remained calm, but a faint note of something else lingered beneath—a quiet weight. "But there are gaps. Things I know I once knew, but can't recall."
"Like the book," Lucien said quietly.
She looked up.
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
Yuki—Elise—hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. "What book?"
"Exactly," he said.
She tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "You think I forgot something important."
"I know you did. But not because you were careless. Because someone made sure of it."
Elise didn't answer immediately. Her fingers traced the edge of the paper in front of her. Her silence was telling.
Lucien studied her. "There are truths in this world that act like diseases. Knowledge that takes root and corrupts. The more you understand, the more you cease to be yourself."
She looked at him again, more seriously now.
"You think I'm protected."
"Or shielded. Maybe even by the same force that protects me. Or maybe it's coincidence. But I'm not ready to believe in coincidences anymore."
Elise closed the book in front of her. "I didn't come to chase the past. I didn't even know I remembered it until I saw you. But now that I do, I can't ignore it."
Lucien nodded. "I don't expect you to. Just don't expect me to trust easily."
"I don't," she said. "But I'm still here."
A moment passed. The candlelight danced across their faces, the stillness between them not empty, but watchful.
Lucien stood slowly. "Come. There's a copy of Seers of the Stars on the upper level. It might hold something worth reading."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're sharing?"
"Observing," he corrected. Then, almost too quietly, "But perhaps also trusting. A little."
As they walked side by side toward the stairs, neither spoke. The silence was no longer cold or distant. It was something familiar.
A relic of another life.
To be continued...