Emrah was sitting in the living room with James and Sofia when his phone vibrated against the glass table.
He glanced at the screen.
Mom.
He answered immediately. "Yes, mom?"
"We're at the shopping center," she said without preamble. "Come here. I've sent you the location."
Before he could ask why, the call ended. A second later, his phone chimed with a pin.
Emrah exhaled and stood up. "Looks like I'm being summoned."
James smirked. "Family duty?"
"Always," Emrah replied. He grabbed his keys and gestured toward the door. "Come with me. You might as well see how chaotic my family really is."
Sofia smiled softly and rose without hesitation. "I'd like that."
They drove through the city in comfortable silence, Istanbul unfolding around them—traffic humming, storefronts gleaming, the late afternoon sun reflecting off glass and steel. Sofia watched the streets with quiet fascination, while James absently tapped his fingers against his knee.
When they arrived at the shopping center, the place was alive with movement. Polished marble floors reflected warm lights from luxury stores. The scent of perfume and fresh coffee mingled in the air. Gold shops lined the upper level like small treasure vaults, their windows glowing with yellow brilliance.
Emrah spotted his mother almost immediately.
She smiled the moment she saw him. Beside her stood Melike, elegant as ever, her sharp eyes already assessing everything—and everyone.
"Emrah," his mother said warmly, then turned her attention to the two strangers beside him. "And these are…?"
"These are my university mates from London," Emrah said easily. "James and Sofia Dawson."
Sofia inclined her head politely. "Merhaba."
James followed, a bit awkward but sincere. "Merhaba… sorry, auntie. We only know a little Turkish."
His mother laughed, genuinely amused. "No problem at all. I can speak English. Feel free to ask me anything."
Melike said nothing at first. She simply observed.
Her gaze lingered on Sofia—not rudely, not obviously, but with the quiet intensity of someone who had spent a lifetime reading people. She noticed the way Sofia stood close to Emrah without realizing it. The way her eyes followed him even when others spoke. The softness that appeared only when she looked at him.
That girl is not here just as a friend, Melike thought.
Emrah cleared his throat. "Where is everyone else?"
His mother gestured toward the lower floors. "Aslan and Nilay are shopping downstairs with the girls."
She paused, then added lightly, "By girls, I mean your wives, of course."
Emrah felt heat creep up his neck. He coughed once, pretending to adjust his watch. "Right."
Downstairs, Efsun and Efsane were walking side by side, their arms full of bags, their conversation half-hearted. The mall noise faded the moment Efsun's eyes lifted.
She stopped.
Across the open space above them, Emrah stood laughing softly—his hand intertwined with a woman's hand. The girl had curly brown hair, pale skin, and eyes that shone with warmth.
Efsun's expression darkened instantly.
Efsane followed her gaze. Her jaw tightened.
"…That's him," Efsun said coldly.
Without another word, they moved toward the escalator, anger fueling their steps.
They reached the upper floor just as Emrah's mother and Aslan stepped between them and Emrah.
"Girls," his mother said firmly, though her tone remained calm. "These are Emrah's university friends."
Aslan nodded. "From England."
Efsun's fury faltered, confusion replacing it.
"…Friends?" she repeated.
Efsane's eyes flicked to Sofia again, searching for threat, for intent. Whatever she saw didn't fully calm her—but it softened the edge.
"We didn't know," Efsun muttered.
Emrah finally stepped forward. "I should've told you earlier. That's on me."
The tension didn't disappear—but it settled, sinking beneath the surface like something waiting to resurface later.
What neither of them knew—what Emrah himself rarely allowed his mind to linger on—was that once, years ago, he had wanted more with Sofia.
And now, Sofia wanted more with him.
That truth remained unspoken.
For now.
Soon after, they entered one of the largest gold shops in the mall.
The interior glowed with warm yellow light. Gold bracelets, necklaces, and coins lined velvet displays—symbols of tradition, commitment, and lineage. The hum of quiet conversation filled the space as attendants moved gracefully between customers.
This was tradition. This was family.
As they browsed, more familiar faces arrived.
Emrah's father Emir entered with his sister and Yusuf. Moments later, Cengiz Küreys and Adil followed, greeting everyone with nods and firm handshakes.
The space felt suddenly full—not just with people, but with presence.
Cengiz's eyes landed on James and Sofia. "Emrah," he said, his voice measured, "who are these two?"
"Just my friends from university," Emrah replied smoothly.
Cengiz nodded, satisfied—for now.
Melike leaned closer to him and spoke quietly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "I'm suspicious of the girl," she said calmly. "You know my intuition is rarely wrong. I think she's in love with Emrah."
Cengiz exhaled through his nose. "That boy attracts complications."
Nearby, Küreys turned to Emir. "Where is Emre?"
"He stayed behind," Emir replied evenly. "He's overseeing the business—taking some of the weight off Emrah's shoulders. And mine."
Emrah, pretending to inspect a gold bracelet, released a silent breath of relief.
Thank you, dad.
As gold was selected and conversations overlapped, Emrah stood at the center of it all—friends from his past, families shaping his future, and tensions quietly threading themselves together.
They were halfway out of the gold shop when it happened.
Not suddenly.
Not violently.
The world simply… tilted.
Emrah felt it first in his spine—a crawling sensation, like something unseen brushing against his nerves. His fingers loosened around the small velvet bag he was holding, and for a split second, gravity forgot him.
The chatter of the mall stretched thin, voices warping into echoes. Light bent strangely, as if the air itself had thickened.
Then—
White.
Endless, blinding white.
The scent of antiseptic burned his nose. Cold crept into his bones, not from temperature, but from something far deeper—an instinctive recognition that he was somewhere he did not belong.
Figures moved in front of him.
Doctors.
Or at least, things dressed like them.
Their coats were immaculate. Their movements synchronized, efficient to the point of being inhuman. Masks hid their mouths, but their eyes were sharp—focused, emotionless.
They weren't speaking.
They didn't need to.
A metallic clink echoed.
Tables slid forward.
And then he saw them.
Chocolate cakes.
Rows upon rows of them.
Perfect. Identical. Tempting.
The kind made to be trusted.
Gloved hands pressed needles into the soft layers. Clear liquid flowed effortlessly inside, vanishing without a trace. The chocolate absorbed it greedily, as if it had been waiting.
And that was when Emrah's chest burned.
Not pain.
Recognition.
His heart stuttered, then slammed against his ribs as something ancient and familiar stirred inside him. His veins felt warm—almost hot—as if his body itself was recoiling.
I know this.
Not logically.
Instinctively.
The same echo.
The same wrongness.
The same power that had once rewritten his fate.
The serum.
A flash—
The cakes were boxed.
Another flash—
Hands sealing packages.
Another—
A syringe snapping back into place.
And then—
Light.
A sharp, piercing flash of white that split the vision apart—
"Emrah!"
Reality crashed back into him like a wave.
His lungs dragged in air greedily, his chest heaving. The mall's noise returned all at once—too loud, too close. His knees buckled slightly.
Hands caught him.
"Emrah!" Efsun's voice trembled as she grabbed his arm. "What's wrong with you? You just stopped."
Efsane was already in front of him, eyes narrowed, scanning his face like she was looking for wounds. "You went pale," she said sharply. "Say something."
His mother rushed forward, worry etched deep into her features. "Emrah, oğlum—are you dizzy? Should we sit you down?"
"Is he sick?" Melike asked quietly, her gaze sharp and calculating.
Sofia stood frozen a step away, her hand half-raised, unsure if she was allowed to touch him. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You weren't blinking," she said. "I thought you fainted."
James frowned, glancing around as if expecting danger. "Mate… you scared everyone."
Emrah swallowed hard.
The world still felt… thin. Like if he focused too hard, it would tear again.
"I'm fine," he said, forcing the words out evenly. "Really."
No one moved.
No one believed him.
He exhaled slowly, then added with a faint, crooked smile, "I skipped dinner. My blood sugar probably dropped."
Efsun didn't let go of his arm. "You don't just freeze like that because you're hungry."
"I know," he replied gently. "But I promise—nothing's wrong."
Sofia stepped closer despite herself. "Emrah… if you need to see a doctor—"
He shook his head quickly. "No hospitals. I'm okay."
His father studied him for a long second, then nodded once. "Let's get food," Emir said firmly. "We'll talk later."
Reluctantly, the tension eased.
Movement returned.
But inside Emrah's mind, the vision lingered like a scar.
They didn't steal it.
They perfected it.
Chocolate wasn't a coincidence.
It was a delivery system.
Harmless. Familiar. Trusted.
They're feeding it to people.
As they walked toward the restaurant, laughter slowly returning around him, Emrah's face remained calm—but his thoughts sharpened into something cold and precise.
Someone recreated the serum.
On a massive scale.
And for the first time since gaining his immortality, Emrah felt something dangerously close to fear.
If I don't stop this…
This world won't survive it.