Eldur's POV
The rain was relentless—angry, the way I liked it. The kind that smacked the concrete like it had something to prove. It bled through the sleeves of my jacket, soaked into the hem of my hoodie, and plastered my white hair to my forehead like a soggy crown. The storm wrapped around me like a second skin, and for once, I didn't care.
Then I heard her.
Not her voice—no, that would've been too easy.
Her heartbeat.
Steady, but uncalibrated. Like a violin string too tight. I turned the corner, and there she was—sitting on the steps of my building like some drenched, wide-eyed ghost who didn't know if she belonged to the world of the living or dead.
Nova.
Goddess help me.
Her hoodie clung to her like wet paper. She looked so small and yet—there she was. On my doorstep. After everything. After telling me to stay away. After pretending I didn't exist outside her peripherals. After acting like Amara didn't bother her at all.
I froze.
Couldn't speak. Couldn't think.
