Pain. That was all Ada could feel. It was happening again—history repeating itself, like an old wound torn open. Dropping onto the stool, she held her head as an agonizing surge shot through her skull. Gan Gagagore was on the loose, and their last fight had left Crepusculem vulnerable once more. The weight of guilt clung to her like an iron shroud, suffocating her with each shallow breath. The echoes of past mistakes rang in her ears, a haunting reminder of how dangerously close she'd come to the darkness she had once sworn to fight.

She blamed herself for it all. Trusting Gan, giving him her heart, letting him weave his way into her very existence—it had all led to this. She, who had vowed to be a bulwark against the shadows, now found herself entangled in them. Love had betrayed her, twisted her fate, and now that twisted path threatened the sanctuary she'd built. The lives of those in Crepusculem—people who had accepted her—were now at risk, and the guilt was an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest.

Tears welled up as the memories of the destruction they had already suffered flickered before her eyes. The city, her home, her friends—she couldn't lose them. Not again. Not because of him. Her breaths became shallow, her vision narrowing as the helplessness gnawed at her like a living thing.

And then—ring!

A shrill sound pierced the suffocating silence, making her heart lurch. Startled, Ada blinked through her tears and looked around in confusion. What was that?

At first, she thought it was her phone, but the device lay still on the counter. The ringing morphed into a whimsical chime, and then the distinct clatter of pots and pans echoed from the living room. Panic shot through her as she shot to her feet. Something was moving in her house.

Not now, she thought. Her head throbbed, her magic drained, her spirit ragged—but she didn't have a choice. Fear gave her adrenaline, and she snatched the nearest weapon—a frying pan from the stove.

"Flitch?" she called out tentatively, half-hoping the mischievous elf had returned to torment her. At least he was familiar. There was no response, only the sound of something—or someone—rustling in the next room.

She approached the living room, heart hammering in her chest. The once tranquil space was in chaos. The standing lamp lay across the floor, its bulb shattered. Ash trailed ominously from the fireplace to her couch. Stools had been knocked over, and dust swirled in the air. Her breath hitched. Something—or someone—was in her home.

A shape stirred behind the couch, just a subtle shift of the shadows at first. Then, to Ada's horror, a hand appeared, rising slowly from behind the cushions.

Her breath hitched, the sound caught in her throat, and before she could think to act, a scream erupted from her chest. She staggered backward, eyes wide in shock. The frying pan she held felt heavy, and yet it was her only defense in this impossibly surreal moment.

But instead of an attack, her scream was answered by a voice—a very human voice.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, woman!"

Ada blinked. The voice was deep, laced with a touch of alarm but also amusement. Confusion clouded her panic, and her heart skipped. A man—no, more like a figure, dark and imposing—rose from behind the couch, tall and draped in black from head to toe. His raven hair fell in dishevelled strands around his face, and those eyes—those amber eyes—glowed unnaturally in the dim light of the room, locking onto hers with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"Who—what—how did you—?" Ada stammered, struggling to piece together words as her mind spun.

"Relax! I'm not here to hurt you!" He raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping cautiously out of the wreckage. "Though, judging by your reaction, maybe I should've knocked."

Ada's mind spun. Was this real? There was a stranger in her living room, standing amid the wreckage of her toppled furniture, and he looked like he had just crawled out of the shadows themselves. She glanced around wildly, the ash trail from the fireplace catching her eye, and her pulse quickened. 

"Wait! You can... see me?" the man asked, his voice tinged with genuine surprise.

"What? Of course, I can see you! You're standing in my living room!" Ada snapped, her panic spiking again as she tightened her grip on the frying pan. This time, though, her fear was mixed with frustration. Was this some kind of sick joke?

For a brief moment, the man's glowing amber eyes widened in surprise. Then, without warning, he smirked. "Well, that's a first."

In a split second, chaos erupted. The man's majestic body flew across the vintage living room, engulfed in a blinding white-gold light. The sound of splintering wood, shattering glass, and thuds filled the air.An audible wince and several whines later, the whole house fell back to silence. 

Gasping for breath, Ada clung to the staircase railing, her palms glowing white as energy still swamp within her. 'Just one little blow and you're gaping for life. Oh, how fascinating of a skill you have!' her conscience spat. 

 She had just blown out the intruder who had invaded her house. The stranger lay in the middle of her living room, amidst the remnants of a blown-up coffee table and the scattered debris.Times like this were the only moments when her powers came in handy. Whenever she was triggered or in danger, her core energy would instinctively act up to protect her life. But however her torment magic apparently had been drawn out to the last drop due to the last battle and she was running on her core energy. 

She felt herself getting a dizzy spell and the sheer pain in her skull was her hazard alert.Just as Ada thought she had taken the stranger down for good, a rustling sound could be heard from the wreckage. The intruder in question groaned and cursed his way up as he got back to his feet.

"Ow... What's wrong with you? Is this how Romersai taught you to welcome guests?"

Ada stared in disbelief. "You... you survived that?"

The man winced, pulling a shard of glass from his forehead and tossing it aside, the skin healing over instantly. His black turtleneck and coat remained intact, dusted with ash and debris, while his burning amber eyes gleamed with a spark of humour. "Impressive, huh?"

"Who the hell are you?" Ada gasped, backing up against the wall, her head spinning.

He flashed her a grin, snapping his fingers. A small triangle of cardboard materialised and zoomed past her, narrowly missing her face before embedding itself in the wall.

"The name's Pilantre," he said with a casual bow. "Here to check in on you."

Ada's brain couldn't keep up. "Check in on me? From where? How did you even get inside?"

"Chimney," he said with a shrug, nodding towards the fireplace. "Needs a bit of cleaning, by the way."

Her mouth opened and closed, words failing her. The absurdity of it all struck her, and despite the fear, despite the pain and exhaustion, she almost laughed. Almost.

But then the weight of her reality crashed back down. "Gan didn't send you, did he?"

"Chimney? The hell!"

Ada's mind raced, connecting the dots far too slowly for her liking. The ash. The whoosh sound earlier. It all lined up in the most bizarre, nonsensical way possible.

The stranger merely smirked, still standing amid the wreckage of her living room, entirely unfazed by her shock or the chaos around him. "The 'hell' part is quite accurate—"

"Are you a ghost?" she blurted, her voice laced with confusion. Apart from the flames flickering in his amber eyes, nothing about him screamed 'paranormal.' And yet, those eyes—they stirred something in her memory. Something she couldn't place.

The man, Pilantre, chuckled, the sound low and amused. "You can see me."

"I can see ghosts," Ada replied automatically, trying to sound more certain than she felt.

"I know," he said, his smirk widening.

"What?!" Her frustration flared, disbelief settling into every word.

"I'm not a ghost." He met her eyes, his amber gaze locking with her stormy ocean blue, a momentary flicker of intensity passing between them.

Ada squinted, narrowing her eyes at him. "A spirit? An angel? Nope, definitely not an angel." She paced a few steps, growing more frantic as the weight of her unresolved questions bore down on her. "Are you here to kill me? Did Gan send you? Or is this my family's doing?" Her voice quivered as the panic rose. "Oh God, what have I done!"

Her hands flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she tugged in frustration. The pressure in her chest was mounting, and the tears she had been holding back since her brother's death threatened to break free.

"You alright?" Pilantre's voice softened, the humor draining from his expression. His concern was real now.

Ada's breath came in shallow bursts. "What do you think? I just lost my brother to the most vicious creature to ever walk the Earth, and you think I'm happy about that?" Her words came out sharp, edged with grief and rage.

She hated how raw she sounded, how vulnerable she felt, standing here with a stranger who claimed to understand but didn't know. Didn't feel the way she did.

Ada hugged herself, still trembling. "I don't even know..." The words barely escaped her lips before she collapsed, her knees buckling under the weight of her grief. Her body hit the floor with a thud, and her tears flowed like a flood, fierce and unrelenting. The sound of her sobbing filled the room—a deep, guttural cry that clawed its way out of her chest.

Devereaux froze, caught off guard by the sheer force of her agony. He had anticipated resistance, maybe anger, but this? This raw, unfiltered collapse was something his assignment hadn't prepared him for. He stared at her for a minute or two, waiting, hoping the sobs would subside on their own. After all, he wasn't here to be her emotional support—just to keep her safe from Gan's looming shadow. That should've been enough.

But it wasn't.

He stood there, trying to convince himself that his role was simple, clinical. Yet something stirred inside him, something old and buried—something he thought he had left behind when he swore to stay out of her life. Devereaux wasn't supposed to care. Not now. Not anymore. He had sworn an oath, wrapped himself in a veil, hidden behind a name that wasn't his. He had watched her grow from a distance, carefully, quietly, never getting too close.

Until now.

Now, here she was, shattered before him, her body wracked with sobs, her face hidden behind her hands. And he... he couldn't just stand there. He couldn't. Not this time.

Before he could stop himself, Devereaux was kneeling beside her. His gloved hands hesitated above her trembling frame, unsure of how to comfort, how to soothe. His touch felt foreign even to him, but instinctively, one hand gently settled on her back. His movements were slow, cautious, as though he feared he might break her even further.

"It's okay," he whispered, his voice soft, almost too quiet for the room. He hadn't meant to sound so tender, but there it was—his humanity seeping through the cracks he'd worked so hard to seal.

Ada's sobs grew louder, her chest heaving with the weight of her grief. "It's not okay!" she wailed, the words cutting through the air like knives. "Nothing's okay. I lost him. I lost everything."

Devereaux's hand moved in slow circles on her back, unsure if it helped at all but too afraid to stop. "Let it out. Sometimes it helps," he murmured, feeling the tremor in her body under his touch. Her pain was palpable, and it gnawed at something deep inside him.

Her sobs quieted for just a moment, long enough for her to shift, to rest her head against his chest. The weight of her leaned into him, trusting, vulnerable. He didn't deserve that trust, not after all the years he'd stayed away. Not after all the things he had failed to prevent. But she didn't know that. Not yet.

"I don't even know you," Ada whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "I'm crying in the arms of a stranger. You could just... kill me right now, and no one would even know."

Devereaux's hands tightened around her, holding her a little closer. "What are you talking about?" His voice was firmer now, though the softness never fully disappeared. He prayed her words were just the side effects of the shock, the trauma. "You're not lost. You have—"

"I'm alone!" Ada screamed, cutting him off, her fists pounding weakly against his chest. "I'm alone, and I've lost him! Auden... he was all I had. And I couldn't even save him. I couldn't... save anyone." Her voice cracked, and the last of her strength seemed to drain away as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.

Devereaux felt her words like knives, each one slicing deeper into a wound he thought had long healed. He could feel her heartbreak, her hopelessness, and it shook him in ways he hadn't anticipated. His hands trembled as he held her, unsure of what to say. What could he say?

"You have me," he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Ada scoffed through her tears, her voice brittle with disbelief. "You? You're just another stranger. Another face in the crowd who doesn't care. You barged into my life like everyone else, but you'll leave too. They all leave."

Her tears shimmered in the dim light, trailing down her rosy cheeks, and Devereaux's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He had no right to feel this. No right to want to stay. And yet...

Her sobs intensified, her voice breaking as she choked out the words. "It's all my fault. Everything that's happened—it's my fault. Gan is free because of me, and now... now everyone's going to die because I was too weak to stop him."

Devereaux's arms tightened around her, his cloak a dark cocoon shielding her from the world. "Stop," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't say that."

"It's true," she gasped, her face buried against his chest. "I—I couldn't save Auden. I couldn't save anyone. I should've done more, been more. But I wasn't. I'm not enough. I'll never be enough."

The weight of her words pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had seen this before, this spiral of guilt, of shame. And each time, it gutted him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing his words meant nothing. "I wish I could change what happened. I wish I could've done more."

Ada's body trembled against him, her breathing ragged and uneven. "If you're not here to kill me," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "then leave. Please... just leave. I'm gonna get attached to you too. I'm that pathetic..."

"You're not pathetic!" Devereaux protested firmly. But for a moment, he contemplated on leaving. He wanted to walk away, to let her push him out of her life as she had every right to do. But something inside him wouldn't let go. Something old and buried, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to feel in far too long.

Instead of leaving, he pulled her closer, letting her sobs be muffled against the thick fabric of his cloak. "I'm not leaving," he whispered. "Not yet. Not until you're ready."

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the world outside forgotten, the storm of emotions between them the only thing that mattered. In the quiet that followed, Devereaux felt something shift—a fragile, tenuous connection born of shared pain and unspoken regret.

Ada's sobs finally began to fade, her exhaustion taking over as she slumped against him. He looked down at her, his heart aching in ways he hadn't felt in centuries. He could see it now, the depth of her loss, her fear, her agony, all laid bare before him.

And he hated himself for not being able to fix it.

"I remember you," Ada whispered, her voice fragile, like a thread ready to snap. "You... were there. That night. At the Crepusculem."

Devereaux stiffened, his grip loosening on her slightly. His eyes, still burning faintly, met hers, and he could see the realization dawning in her tear-filled gaze. 

"You saved me," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Didn't you?"

Devereaux felt like something was getting caught in his throat. "I—I need to go now." The urgency in his voice was foreign to him, a pulse of panic propelling him off the ground and turning him away. But before he could take even a single step, a lingering sensation tugged at him, halting him mid-stride.

"I—I'll send someone over. Try not to bomb them as the first thing, and I'll ask them to use an entrance that's not the chimney," he managed, his tone wavering as he fought against the desire to stay.

"Wait, but—" Ada's voice reached out to him, raw and pleading, but he didn't turn back. He couldn't.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving only a puff of smoke that hung in the air like the last remnants of a fading dream. The emptiness that followed his departure enveloped Ada, a heavy blanket of silence that amplified her despair. She felt herself losing strength, each breath feeling like a burden as the warmth of his presence faded into nothingness.

With the absence of his anchor, gravity slowly dragged her down to the carpeted floor. She crumpled against the plush fabric, her body folding in on itself as sobs began anew. The quiet that filled the room was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in her heart. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them close to her chest, trying to hold together the pieces of herself that felt shattered beyond repair.