The word hung in the stale air of the stairwell like a death sentence.
"Found them."
Ren's little gasp hit my chest like a punch.
Adrian's entire body changed in an instant—shoulders tightening, jaw locking, silver eyes darkening into something feral.
Not scared.
Prepared.
The kind of calm that comes right before a storm tears the roof off.
Adrian's arm slid around my waist—fast, instinctive, too familiar for someone I'd "just met." It felt like muscle memory. Like he'd held me like this a thousand times before.
"Stay behind me," he whispered.
His breath still shook. Not from fear of the men above us—
but from the memory of losing me before.
My pulse hammered. My legs felt numb.
But Ren reached for me, instinctively trying to wedge himself between my stomach and Adrian's coat, trembling so hard his teeth chattered.
"Papa," he whispered, voice tiny, cracking. "They'll take Mama again."
Again.
That word kept slicing through me deeper each time.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the concrete steps above us—slow at first, then faster. Shadows moved under the still-open stairwell door. At least three men. Maybe more.
Adrian didn't flinch.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at me.
"Elara," he murmured. "Eyes on me."
Not the door.
Not the danger.
Not the footsteps getting closer.
Me.
I forced myself to meet his gaze.
Silver. Sharp. Burning.
But human too—painfully, devastatingly human.
"You remember something, don't you?" he asked softly.
The question skimmed over my skin like a blade.
The burning hallway.
His voice screaming my name.
The heat. The smoke.
The feeling of his fingers slipping from mine.
A memory that wasn't supposed to exist.
"I… I don't know," I whispered.
I hated how my voice shook.
I hated how my hands felt useless and cold.
"I don't know what's real."
Adrian's eyes softened. Only a fraction.
Only for me.
Before he could answer, more footsteps thundered down from the open doorway above, louder and closer.
Adrian shifted instantly—
one arm sweeping Ren behind him,
the other pulling me closer until my shoulder pressed against his chest.
"Don't touch me," I whispered reflexively.
His jaw clenched.
"I won't," he said.
"But stay behind me anyway."
And then—
Then everything happened at once.
The first man rounded the landing, gun raised.
Adrian moved before the man even finished inhaling.
A blur. A shadow. A storm in human skin.
He slammed the man's wrist into the railing—bones cracking—
and the gun clattered to the floor.
Before the attacker could scream, Adrian drove his elbow into the man's throat.
The sound that followed wasn't a cry—
just a wet, collapsing choke.
Ren hid his face in my shirt.
I gripped his shoulders, keeping him behind me, shielding him as best I could.
Another man appeared—
this one heavier, faster, his coat swinging open to reveal another weapon.
Adrian grabbed the fallen gun, spun, and fired once.
The bullet hit the second man square in the knee.
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Adrian didn't give him time to beg.
He kicked the man's gun away, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him into the wall so hard dust rained down.
"What timeline are you from?" Adrian hissed.
Timeline.
My stomach twisted.
The attacker spat blood and cursed in a language I didn't recognize.
Adrian slammed him again.
"Who sent you?"
The man laughed—a horrible, broken laugh that sounded like it came from a cracked throat.
"You can't protect her," he said.
"Not in this timeline. Not in any."
Adrian's expression snapped into something lethal.
But before he could finish the man—
A third attacker appeared at the top of the stairs.
Gun raised.
Pointed at Adrian.
And Adrian was too far to reach him in time.
"Elara," Adrian breathed—
and in that single whisper, I heard something terrible.
Resignation.
Acceptance.
He stepped slightly to the side—
To shield Ren.
Not himself.
Not me.
Ren.
Always Ren.
The gunshot exploded through the stairwell.
I screamed—
but not because the bullet hit me.
Because Adrian had thrown himself in front of me.
The shot tore through the wall instead—
just inches from his arm—
because he'd moved faster than I could blink, dragging me down with him.
We hit the floor, his body covering mine completely.
"Elara—Elara, look at me," he whispered, breath warm against my cheek, eyes frantic.
"I'm fine," I choked. "I'm fine—Adrian, move—"
He didn't.
He was listening.
He lifted his head just enough to hear the footsteps above.
Then he grabbed the gun beside us with one hand, aimed upward—
And fired through the stairwell railing.
A scream echoed.
Something heavy crashed down the steps.
Boots tumbled.
Metal hit concrete.
Silence.
For a long moment, none of us moved.
Adrian's weight was still on top of me—protective, suffocating, trembling.
Not with fear.
With adrenaline.
With emotion.
With all the things he couldn't say.
I felt Ren crawling toward us, small shaky hands touching Adrian's coat, my hair, my arm—checking if either of us were bleeding.
"Are you hurt?" Ren sobbed. "Mama—Papa—are you hurt?"
I swallowed.
"No, baby," I whispered, pulling him toward me with my free hand.
"I'm okay. Adrian's okay."
Adrian slowly lifted himself off me, breathing hard, silver eyes scanning every inch of me like he expected to find a bullet wound.
His voice cracked.
"He almost hit you."
He said it like a confession.
Like an apology.
Like a nightmare he'd lived before.
I pushed myself upright, legs shaking. Ren clung to my side.
The stairwell was dim, dust settling, gunpowder thick in the air.
Adrian stood slowly, running a hand through his rain-soaked hair.
"We need to keep moving."
His voice trembled once, barely audible.
"They'll send more. They always do."
I stared at him, breathing hard.
"Adrian…"
My throat tightened.
"What the hell is happening to my life?"
He looked at me for a long moment.
And then he said something I will never forget.
"Elara," he whispered, taking one slow step toward me, "your life ended once already."
My skin went cold.
He reached out—hesitated—then let his fingers brush mine.
"And I won't let it end again."
Before I could respond, before the fear or the anger or the memory flooding my skull could make sense—
Footsteps echoed again from the open doorway above—
more men, heavier, faster.
Adrian's eyes sharpened instantly.
"They found us again."
His hand tightened around mine.
"Run."
As we bolted down the next flight of stairs,
a voice echoed through the stairwell—
"Bring Elara alive.
Kill the other two."