The rain hadn't let up. It fell like the ticking of an unwound clock, steady and relentless. Inside the theater, Selene sat alone on the edge of the stage, her fingers tracing the scar along her collarbone—the first gift Marrow had ever given her. Unintentionally.
She hadn't seen him bleed that day.
But she had bled for him ever since.
Nine Years Ago – The Orchid Vaults
The training room was a coffin of steel and sweat. Cold walls. No mirrors. No mercy. Selene and Marrow stood opposite each other, blades drawn, eyes locked. This was not a drill. This was the culling round—pair eliminations. One was supposed to walk away.
Selene had refused.
Marrow had hesitated.
And for that moment of shared rebellion, they were punished. Sent to the crypt-level for a week, chained side by side in darkness, left with only whispers and breath and hunger.
That was where he told her his name.
Laziel.
"I used to be someone," he said in the dark.
"So did I," she replied. "Let's not be again."
When they were released, something between them had changed. They never touched. Never kissed. But the bond was carved into the marrow of who they became. Silent. Absolute.
Until she escaped.
And left him behind.
Now – Harrow Theater, Present
Selene stood at the edge of the balcony, scanning the upper seats through a pair of low-light goggles. Calder's voice crackled in her ear. "No movement. Sensors show nothing. Either he's not here—"
"Or he's already inside."
A soft creak confirmed her instinct.
She turned just as the shadows shifted.
He stepped forward.
Same coat. Same eyes. But colder.
Marrow.
"Hello, Selene."
Her heart slowed. Not raced—slowed. This was the rhythm of the Orchid: calm in chaos, stillness before the kill.
"Hello, Laziel," she said.
That made him pause.
His head tilted slightly. The mask of the killer slipped for a breath.
"I wondered if you still remembered my name."
"I never forgot. Even when I hated you."
Silence. A war waged in a glance.
"You shouldn't have come," she said.
"You called me."
"I warned you."
"And I came anyway."
She stepped down the aisle slowly, hand never leaving the pistol at her back.
"You're here to kill me."
"Yes."
"But you won't."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled something from his coat. A black petal. One that matched the one she'd kept all these years.
He dropped it at her feet.
"I came to bury what we were."
She stared at it. Then at him.
"Then try."
In an instant, he moved.
Steel flashed.
Selene dodged.
They collided in silence, like waltzing shadows. No wasted strikes. No words.
They had trained for this. Together.
A knife grazed her ribs. She kicked his leg. He twisted. She dropped her weight and rolled, gun drawn—only to find his blade at her throat.
He wasn't shaking.
She was.
"Do it," she said.
But he didn't.
His blade hovered. Inches. Breath.
"You're not the mission," he said.
"Then what am I?"
He stared at her.
"You're the memory I never got to keep."
Then he vanished.
Gone before she could fire.
Gone before she could feel.