47.

Caelan’s car moved through the darkened streets like a phantom, the city lights reflecting off the sleek black exterior. He kept his grip firm on the wheel, his mind racing with possibilities. An intruder. In his home. The idea of someone stepping into his personal space without his knowledge unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Will and Hope had been cryptic over the phone, but their words played on repeat in his mind. “It’s not a break-in,” Hope had insisted. “Nothing’s been stolen. But someone keeps coming back. And they stay… for hours.”

Caelan exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as his car pulled up to the gates of his mansion. He didn’t bother turning on the lights as he stepped inside. His senses were sharp enough to navigate the familiar darkness. His footsteps echoed lightly against the marble floors as he moved through the halls, his instincts leading him toward the living room.

And then he saw her.

Alina.

She was curled up on the sofa, her small frame bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. One of his jackets—one she must have taken from his wardrobe—was draped over her, slipping slightly as she shifted in her sleep. Her face, usually so full of life, was peaceful, her breathing even and soft.

Caelan stood frozen in place, the weight of the moment settling over him. Of all the possibilities that had run through his mind, this was not one of them.

His gaze drifted to the coffee table where a book lay open, its pages slightly curled from being read too often. A glass of water sat beside it, half-full. She had been here for a while. More than just one night, he realized with a start. The faint scent of her lingered in the air, blending with the familiar scent of his home.

She had made a habit of this.

His throat tightened as he took a step closer, his movements careful, as if afraid she might disappear if he made a sound. And then, in the quiet of the night, he heard her murmur—soft, almost pleading.

“Please come back…”

Caelan stilled, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries.

She had been waiting for him.

He exhaled slowly, something unreadable flickering in his silver-grey eyes. He wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as he stood there, watching Alina seek comfort in a place that should have been empty, something inside him shifted.

He reached down, his fingers brushing against her cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alina stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her breathing still slow and steady. Caelan sighed and, after a long moment, moved to sit on the armrest beside her. He would stay, just for a while. Just long enough to understand why she kept coming back to a place she shouldn’t.

And just long enough to figure out why he suddenly didn’t mind it at all.

The first rays of dawn crept into the mansion, slipping through the towering windows, casting golden slants across the floor. Caelan stood in the dim glow, watching as the light slowly reached the couch where Alina lay, curled into herself, lost in the kind of sleep that spoke of exhaustion rather than peace.

His fingers twitched at his sides, an ache curling in his chest like a whisper of something long-buried and unwelcome. He should leave. He had to leave.

But he didn’t move.

For the past few hours, he had stood there, a silent ghost in the shadows, watching over her. She looked so small in the vastness of the mansion, like she didn’t belong, yet at the same time, she fit so effortlessly into the quiet solitude of the place. As if she had always been meant to be there.

But she wasn’t.

Caelan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. What was she doing here, night after night? What was she looking for in the remnants of his life?

He already knew the answer.

Him.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips, but he suppressed it. He had told himself he wouldn’t return. That she was just another fleeting moment in the grand, endless stretch of his existence. But standing here, watching her breathe so softly, so unaware of the storm within him, he realized how much of a lie that was.

She mattered.

And that was dangerous.

The first threads of sunlight stretched further, licking at the tips of his shoes, a quiet warning.

With a clenched jaw, Caelan turned away.

He moved soundlessly through the halls, the weight of centuries pressing against his shoulders. He could have stayed. A part of him wanted to, wanted to sit by her side and pretend for just one more night that he could have something—someone—real. But he couldn’t. Not when the reality of his existence would only bring her pain.

He had loved before. And he had lost before.

He wasn’t willing to go through that again.

As the sun finally broke past the horizon, he slipped out of the mansion, disappearing into the lingering darkness that still clung to the edges of the world. He told himself he wouldn’t return.

But the ghost of her whisper, the way she had murmured please come back in the empty halls, would haunt him far more than any past ever could.