“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He finally meets my eyes—really meets them—and something in his expression cracks. Because he doesn’t look like the monster who ruined me anymore. He looks like the boy I forgot.
“I needed to know,” he says. “If you remembered.”
“And do you?”
He swallows hard, his throat working. Then he nods. “I remember everything.”
I take a step back, the cold stone of the floor seeping through my boots. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His voice breaks, low and ruined. “Because you didn’t choose me then. And I wasn’t going to let you not choose me now.”
I don’t breathe. I don’t move. He steps closer. Closer. Until the air between us feels like a loaded gun. His palm brushes mine, the heat of him a shock. He curls his fingers into my fist.
And he whispers: “You were the first girl I ever wanted to keep. And the first one who left me behind.”
The words gut me. Because I don’t remember doing that, but the ache in his voice says I did. And that memory—the chapel, the candle, the boy in the shadows—it’s not a hallucination. It’s a debt I never knew I owed.
The candles hiss. The moth on the altar doesn’t move. Damien’s fingers are still wrapped around mine, but the weight of his grip has changed. It isn’t possession now. It’s a tremor, like he’s bracing himself for an impact he knows is coming.
I swallow hard, forcing my eyes away from him and back to the altar, back to the single pinned wing.
“The message,” I whisper. “Damien… the message told you to come alone.”
His jaw flexes. “I know.”
“I got one too,” I say, my voice breaking in the middle. “It said ‘Come too.’”
His head snaps up, eyes wide and feral. “What?”
I nod, the phone still heavy in my pocket. “That’s why I’m here. He didn’t just call you. He called me.”
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing. Then he lets go of my hand and drags both palms down his face, fingers digging into his temples like he’s trying to claw the thought out.
“Fuck,” he mutters. The sound is low, dangerous.
I step back, my spine pressing against the altar again. “Who would do this? Who would know how to?—”
“I don’t know yet,” he cuts me off. “But this isn’t a trap for me anymore. This is a trap for you.”
He’s scanning the pews now, his head snapping left and right. His eyes flick to the stained glass, to the broken door, to the darkness between the seats. “He’s been inside my feeds. He’s been inside my backups. Now he’s inside your head.”
“Stop.” My voice is sharp but shaky. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he snaps, then his voice softens into something even more terrifying. “Good. Because you need to be scared enough to listen to me.”
He turns back toward me, stepping back into my space, lowering his voice to a whisper that vibrates against my skin.
“I didn’t bring you here,” he says. “I would never bring you back to this place. He brought you.”
My stomach turns. “Then why are we standing here?”
His eyes bore into mine. “Because if he’s watching,” Damien murmurs, “he’s watching right now.”
