Senti's POV
The rain didn't stop for two days.
Vale's streets blurred into one endless gray mirror, the kind that showed every face except your own. I didn't mind. Reflection wasn't something I wanted to see anymore.
I told Blake not to follow me.
So of course she did.
She was predictable like that — stubborn in ways that made my chest ache. Even when she was scared, she had to chase the answer herself.
It was one of the things I used to admire about her.
Now, it just made me tired.
I saw her again that night — not by accident, not this time.
She was walking through the market district, hood pulled low, ears twitching under the noise. She thought she was being careful. She wasn't.
I followed for a while — rooftops, alley edges, the kind of places only shadows notice.
Every step she took drew her closer to the part of Vale people pretended didn't exist.
My part.
When she slipped through the back gate of an abandoned factory, I sighed.
"Always have to do it the hard way, huh?"
The air shimmered when I dropped down behind her. My boots hit the ground without a sound.
She spun, Gambol Shroud half-drawn, eyes sharp even in the dark.
"Don't," I said.
She froze. Recognition flared, then anger.
"You said not to follow you."
"I also said not to run," I replied, stepping closer. "You never were good at listening."
She raised her blade, Aura flaring violet against the shadows.
"I'm not here to fight."
I smiled. "Then why bring that?"
"Because I don't know who you are anymore."
That one stung — not because it was cruel, but because it was true.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, charged.
"You shouldn't have come here," I said.
"Then tell me why you did," she shot back. "Tell me what you've become."
I didn't answer.
I just stepped forward and let the Aura flicker around me — red and gold bleeding through the dark.
Her eyes widened. "Senti…"
"I warned you," I murmured. "You wouldn't like the answer."
She tried to move, but I was faster.
A pulse of Aura broke the space apart, and before she could blink, I had her pinned — back to the cold concrete wall, wrists caught in one hand.
Her breath hitched. Not fear — not yet — just shock.
I leaned close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me.
"Why are you really here?" I whispered. "Curiosity? Guilt? Pity?"
Her jaw tightened. "Because I know you. You're not this."
"Oh, Blake," I said softly, and it almost came out as a laugh. "You keep saying that like it'll make it true."
She struggled, trying to twist free. My grip held. I could feel her Aura pushing against mine — violet crashing into crimson, gold threading through both.
The sensation burned. It was almost beautiful.
"Let go," she hissed.
"Say you still remember me," I countered.
"That's not fair."
"Neither is forgetting."
The light from our Auras cast us both in uneven color — red and purple twisting over her skin, sparks flickering between us like static.
"You used to believe in me," I said.
"I still do!"
The words hit harder than any weapon. My hand trembled.
"Then why did you leave?"
"I didn't want to lose you!"
That broke something.
The voices inside me — the fragments that never agreed — went silent.
For a heartbeat, it was just her voice, small and raw, and mine, full of things I couldn't say without breaking.
Slowly, I let go of her wrists.
She didn't move. Neither did I. The space between us was thin as breath.
I could have said something.
Apologized.
Begged.
Laughed it off.
Instead, I turned away.
"Go back to Beacon, Blake," I said quietly. "Pretend you never found me."
"I can't."
"Then you'll drown here too."
When I walked out, the night swallowed the sound of my steps.
Behind me, I heard her whisper my name — not a call, just a question.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because the truth was, I didn't know who she was talking to anymore.