The symbol on the wall still dripped red under the weak glow of the street lamp. The rain streaked through it, smearing the lines into jagged stains.
None of them spoke at first. The silence was louder than thunder.
Finally, Jordan whispered, "This isn't random. They know exactly who we are, or rather who you are..."
Riven stepped closer to the wall, his eyes scanning the paint as if it might give up its secrets. His hand hovered near the symbol, but he didn't touch it. "It's deliberate," he muttered. "They want us to see it. To feel watched, feared."
Kael's throat tightened. The symbol seemed to pulse with familiarity. Every time he saw it—on photographs, in flashbacks—it dug deeper into his chest like a hook.
Two interlocking circles. A slash.
He shook himself, trying to breathe. "We can't stand here. Someone might be watching."
Riven nodded. "Back inside. Now."
They returned to Kael's dorm. The corridors were silent, the hum of fluorescent lights oddly eerie. Kael closed the blinds immediately, shutting out the rain and the world beyond.
Jordan sat heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing his raw wrists. "We can't keep doing this. Whoever that man is—he could've killed me." His voice cracked. "Why involve me at all?"
Kael opened his mouth to answer but faltered. He didn't know. Was Jordan simply a pawn to lure them out? Or… was there something else?
Riven leaned against the wall, arms folded, his posture rigid. "Because you're close to us," he said flatly. "That makes you a target."
Jordan's jaw clenched. He dropped his gaze.
The room filled with a heavy pause. Kael felt the weight of both their gazes—Riven's burning, Jordan's weary.
"We need answers," Kael said finally. "No more running in the dark. That man—whoever he is—knows us. He knows me."
Riven's eyes flicked toward him. "You said you've seen him before."
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "Not here. Not now. But in… flashes. In another time." He glanced at Jordan, uncertain, then pressed on. "He wasn't a stranger. He was an enemy. Dangerous. He wanted to tear us apart."
Riven's expression didn't change, but his silence was sharp.
Jordan spoke up. "And this symbol? You've seen that too, right?"
Kael swallowed. "Yes." He rubbed his temples. "Always in the worst moments."
Jordan leaned forward, his voice low. "Then maybe it isn't just about the man. Maybe it's bigger. A group. An order."
The words hung in the air. An order.
Riven's eyes narrowed. "There's one person who might know."
"Who?" Kael asked.
Riven hesitated before speaking. "Lucian."
Kael blinked. "Lucian? The professor?"
Riven nodded. His voice was steady, but Kael caught the flicker of unease in his eyes. "He knows more than he lets on. He's studied these symbols before. I've seen books in his office—old, locked volumes. When I asked, he brushed me off."
Kael frowned. "That doesn't prove he's connected."
"It proves he's hiding something," Riven shot back.
Jordan groaned softly. "You're telling me our history professor is mixed up in this?"
Kael tried to picture Lucian's calm, measured face. His gentle way of speaking. It didn't fit. But then he remembered the way Lucian's eyes lingered sometimes, too sharp for comfort. The way he always seemed to know more than his lectures revealed.
Riven pushed off the wall, restless. "We need to check his office. Tonight."
Kael's pulse jumped. "That's insane. If we're caught—"
"We won't be," Riven interrupted. His voice dropped, iron under the calm. "We don't have a choice. Every step we take, that man is ahead of us. The only way to catch up is to stop waiting for answers to fall into our lap."
The campus was quiet at midnight, the storm finally easing into mist. They moved in silence across the quad, shoes damp against the slick pavement.
The humanities building loomed in front of them, its windows black and unwelcoming.
Riven led the way, moving with surprising precision—checking corners, watching shadows. Kael followed close, Jordan trailing with nervous glances.
The back door had an old lock. Riven knelt, pulling something from his pocket—a small tool, thin and sharp.
Kael whispered, "Where did you—"
"Don't ask." Riven's tone left no room for questions.
With a quiet click, the door opened.
Inside, the hall smelled faintly of old books and dust. Their footsteps were muffled on the carpet. The only light came from the emergency bulbs glowing dimly along the ceiling.
Lucian's office was on the third floor. The walk felt endless, every creak of the stairs like a warning.
At last, they reached the door. Riven tested the handle. Locked, of course. He worked quickly again, and within seconds, the latch gave way.
The room was lined with bookshelves, floor to ceiling. Papers covered the desk in neat stacks. Everything was meticulous, too perfect.
Jordan shut the door quietly. "This feels wrong."
"Keep watch," Riven said without looking at him. He moved to the shelves, scanning the spines of thick, leather-bound volumes. Kael joined him, running his fingers across titles in Latin, German, and other languages he couldn't place.
Then he saw it. A thin book shoved slightly deeper than the others. Unlike the rest, it had no title. Just a worn, dark cover.
He pulled it free. Dust scattered in the air.
"Riven," he whispered.
They set the book on the desk, opening it carefully. The pages were yellowed, covered in strange sketches and cramped handwriting. Symbols filled the margins, circles and slashes drawn again and again.
Kael's blood ran cold. "It's the same."
Riven leaned closer. His jaw tightened. "And look—dates. Places."
Kael followed his finger across the page. The handwriting listed years, spanning centuries. Beside each, there were names. Two names, always paired together.
Different every time. But when Kael read them, he felt a shiver of recognition.
They were their names. The names of his past lives.
Kael's chest constricted. "He knows. He's been tracking us."
Riven's eyes darkened. "Not just tracking. Studying."
Jordan hovered near the door, pale. "This is insane. If Lucian knows about you two—what does that make him? A part of that man's group?"
Kael turned a page, his hands trembling. In the center was a sketch—two figures standing close, a line binding their hands together. Beneath it, scrawled in harsh ink, was the same symbol.
The circles. The slash.
A sound broke the silence.
The click of a door handle.
All three froze.
The outer office door creaked open. A shadow stretched across the carpet.
Riven snapped the book shut, shoving it under his arm. His other hand grabbed Kael's wrist. "Hide. Now."
They ducked behind the shelves just as the inner door swung open.
Lucian stepped inside.
His figure was calm, composed, every movement deliberate. He set down a leather satchel, removed his coat, and crossed to the desk.
Kael's pulse hammered. He could smell the faint cologne, hear the rustle of papers as Lucian adjusted the stacks.
Then Lucian paused. His hand hovered over the desk, brushing across the faint dust Kael's fingers had disturbed.
He straightened slowly. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but chilling.
"Come out."
Kael's breath caught.
Lucian turned toward the shelves, his gaze sharp, unblinking. "You've been busy tonight. Haven't you?"
The silence pressed in like a noose. Kael felt Riven's grip on his wrist tighten. Jordan's breath hitched somewhere to his left.
And Lucian smiled faintly, the kind of smile that knew far too much.