The storm broke at dusk.
Darian pulled his cloak tighter as rain slicked the cobblestones, the market stalls collapsing under hurried hands. The storm gave him cover. People rushed home, heads bent low, leaving the streets nearly empty. Fewer eyes to see him. Fewer chances for the page to play.
He walked quickly, his heart pounding with every step. The whispers inside him hadn't stopped since the square.
She hunts you.
The gods will not spare you.
Strike before she does.
"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, though the storm swallowed his voice.
The alleys bent and twisted, carrying him deeper into the city's dark veins. Every shadow felt alive. Every passerby glanced too long. He wanted to believe it was only his fear but he knew better.
Someone was following him.
Elira moved like a shade between the downpour, her hood drawn low, her eyes locked on the figure ahead. She didn't need torches or signs the air itself pulled her toward him. The closer she came, the heavier her chest grew, as if invisible chains were binding her lungs.
Her visions hadn't lied. He was here. The vessel.
But as she watched him stumble through the rain, shoulders hunched, hands trembling, doubt gnawed at her resolve. This wasn't a tyrant, nor a beast. He looked... fragile. Human.
Her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade beneath her cloak, feeling its faint glow against her skin. One strike would be enough. She could end it before the page spread further.
So why did her feet slow?
Darian ducked into an archway, leaning against the cold stone. His breath came sharp, his pulse frantic. He could feel eyes on him, pressing at his back. He turned.....
And saw her.
She stood at the edge of the alley, rain sliding off her cloak, her gaze fixed on him with piercing calm.
For a moment, neither moved.
The world fell silent. The storm, the thunder, even the whispers of the page gone. Only her eyes, sharp as a blade yet softened by something unspoken, held him in place.
Darian's hand twitched toward his satchel where the page lay hidden. The urge to open it, to command her to stop, surged through his veins.
But he froze.
Because in her stare, he saw not hatred... but sorrow.
The silence stretched. Then Elira lowered her hood just enough for him to glimpse her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak then stopped.
With a sharp turn, she melted back into the rain, disappearing into the night.
Darian's knees nearly gave out. He pressed against the wall, gasping, the page's voice hissing in rage.
Coward. You should have struck. She will kill you.
But all Darian could think of was her eyes. Eyes that promised two truths:
She knew him.
And she would not stop.