The rumble of the last train faded, leaving the tunnels heavy with silence. Elena tightened her grip on her knife. Something wasn't right.
Damian was awake instantly, eyes sharp. "You hear it too?"
She nodded. Footsteps. Soft. Careful. Not the heavy boots of syndicate thugs. Something slower, deliberate—like whoever it was wanted to be heard just enough.
From the darkness beyond the maintenance room, a figure emerged. Tall, gaunt, his coat hanging off him like a shadow. His face was half-hidden beneath the hood, but the way he carried himself set Elena's teeth on edge—calm, assured, like the tunnels belonged to him.
"Impressive," the stranger said, voice low, echoing faintly off the walls. "Most don't survive their first syndicate hit squad. But then, you two are… special."
Elena's stomach knotted. She took a step forward, blade raised. "Who the hell are you?"
The man ignored the question. His eyes gleamed under the hood, shifting between her and Damian. "Both halves of the same lock," he murmured, almost reverently.
Damian stiffened. Elena caught it—the way his hand twitched toward his weapon, the muscle in his jaw tightening. He knew this man.
Her blood chilled. "Damian?"
"Don't," Damian said sharply, eyes locked on the figure. "Don't listen to him."
The stranger chuckled, slow and unsettling. "Still trying to keep her in the dark? How noble. How useless." His gaze fixed on Elena. "You think your family's death was tragedy. Random. Collateral. But what if I told you… it was design?"
Elena's chest constricted. "You're lying."
"Am I?" The man tilted his head, smile curling. "Did he ever tell you he was there that night? That your fire wasn't an accident?"
Her knife trembled. She whipped toward Damian. "What is he talking about?"
Damian's eyes burned into hers, raw and desperate. "Elena—don't. Not here. Not with him."
Her world tilted. He was there? He knew?
The stranger stepped closer, his voice silken, predatory. "You lost everything in those flames. Parents, future, innocence. And the man standing beside you—" he nodded at Damian—"was tangled in it from the very start."
The ground seemed to vanish under her. Her heart thundered, her mind screaming against the possibility. But Damian's silence… his refusal to deny it outright… was louder than any confession.
The stranger smiled, satisfied at the fracture spreading between them. Then, as suddenly as he'd appeared, he melted back into the tunnels, his footsteps fading like smoke.
Elena stood frozen, pulse pounding in her ears.
Slowly, she turned, knife trembling in her grip. Damian hadn't moved. He just stared at the ground, jaw tight, refusing to meet her eyes.
Her throat closed. "Tell me it isn't true."
Silence.
Her body moved before her mind caught up. In a blink, the blade was against Damian's throat, her hand shaking from fury and heartbreak.
His breath hitched, but he didn't flinch. Didn't even raise his weapon. He just looked at her, eyes dark, and said quietly, "If I tell you everything… you'll never forgive me."
Tears stung her eyes, hot and blinding. Her grip tightened on the blade. For one terrible moment, she wanted to press forward, end it, erase the ache with blood.
But her hand refused to move.
The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. She spun away, pressing both hands against her temples as if she could claw the truth out of her skull.
Behind her, Damian's voice was low, raw. "I'm sorry, Elena."
The words echoed through the tunnels, a confession and a curse all at once.