The next morning, sunlight spilled through the tall glass windows of Velletto Tower — soft, golden, deceptive.
It looked like peace.
But inside Elara's chest, war had already begun.
She stood in the gym, dressed in black leggings and a loose shirt. Her reflection in the mirror looked calm — but there was something dangerous in her stillness.
Something that wasn't supposed to be there.
Every time she blinked, she saw blood.
Every time she exhaled, she heard steel clashing.
And when she looked down at her palms… she could almost smell gunpowder.
"You shouldn't skip breakfast."
Adrian's voice echoed from behind her — smooth and low, like a calm before lightning.
He leaned casually against the doorway, hands in pockets, watching her.
"You're following me now?" she asked without turning.
"I don't follow," he said softly. "I watch what's mine."
Elara's reflection met his gaze through the mirror — cold, sharp, unflinching.
"If I'm your possession," she said, "then you should know I'm not easy to keep."
Adrian's lips curved. "Good. I hate fragile things."
The elevator chimed.
A sound too soft to be threatening — until the door opened and a man in black stepped out.
Security. But not hers.
He raised his hand. A silver pistol gleamed.
Bang!
The first shot shattered the mirror.
Elara didn't scream.
She moved.
Before her mind even registered danger, her body twisted sideways — catching the man's wrist, slamming it against the wall, disarming him with mechanical precision.
Crack.
His wrist broke under her grip.
He howled in pain — the sound swallowed by her calm, merciless breathing.
She caught the gun mid-fall, flipped it in her hand, and aimed it directly between his eyes.
"Who sent you?" she demanded.
Her tone wasn't Elara's.
It was someone else's.
Colder. Older. Deadlier.
The man's eyes widened.
"Viper—"
Bang!
A bullet flew past his ear, missing him by an inch.
Elara didn't even blink.
And then she froze.
What… what was that?
The gun slipped from her fingers. Her knees trembled.
Adrian walked toward her, unhurried. He stopped a step away, his gaze never leaving her face.
"You remember how to kill," he said quietly.
"I—" she stammered, staring at the shattered glass, her reflection fractured into a hundred Elaras — each one holding a gun.
"What did you do to me?" she whispered.
He took the gun from the floor and placed it back in her hand.
"I didn't do anything," Adrian said. "You just woke up."
The guards rushed in; Adrian didn't look at them.
"Clean this up," he ordered, voice ice-calm.
"And find out who sent him."
He turned back to Elara. Her hands were shaking, gun still warm in her grip.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
"Because I nearly killed someone," she whispered.
"No," he corrected. "Because you almost remembered who you are."
Elara looked at him then — really looked — and saw something flicker in his eyes.
Not pride.
Not surprise.
Satisfaction.
As if he had been waiting for this moment.
That night, when she finally tried to sleep, the darkness whispered a single word through her dreams:
"Viper."
And when she woke up gasping —
Adrian was already sitting beside her bed.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.