[Talia's POV]
Two months.
That's how long it's been since everything cracked open.
Since the moment I saw him like that—a shadow wearing Rowan's skin.
And it hasn't stopped replaying. Every night, every blink too long, every quiet second between breaths.
The look in his eyes, cold and wide and wrong.
The man who stood in that ruin wasn't the Rowan I trained beside, the one who smirked when I teased him, who always left half his food when he knew I hadn't eaten.
The one who tried to act indifferent, but always looked back to make sure I was keeping up.
That version of him—he was gone. Or maybe buried under something darker. Something feral.
That thing I saw?
Predator.
Even with all my strength, all the training, all the power I'd fought for—I felt prey. I've faced monsters before. But never someone I cared about. Never someone I—
I shut my eyes. Don't go there.
I've thrown myself into training since then. Day in, day out, until my limbs shake and my breath burns in my chest.
Until my muscles scream louder than the ache in my heart. It helped at first. Gave me something to grip onto. Pain I could understand. Pain with rules.
But it didn't last.
Because when the bruises faded, the silence came rushing back.
And with it, him.
The way he looked at me that day, like I was nothing. Like I was an obstacle. Like he'd forgotten who I was. Or maybe he hadn't—and that was the worst part.
Rowan was my rival, my partner, my closest friend. Hell, maybe more than that. And now?
He's just a ghost I keep fighting in my head. Over and over. And I keep losing.
I tell myself he's dead, that the Rowan I knew wouldn't have done what he did. But I can't stop wondering.
What if he's still in there? What if I could've stopped it?
I hate that I still care.
I hate that I still hope.
The bang outside snapped me out of it—a dull, hollow thud that shook the air just enough to pull me back.
Tobias again, probably flinging himself at one of those poor training dummies like it owed him money.
He hasn't stopped. Not once. Hasn't put those damn daggers down since the day he came back.
He showed up caked in dirt and dried blood, clothes hanging off him like old paper. And his eyes… they were stuck somewhere between sorrow and wrath.
Said he awakened, just like that. No fanfare. No explanation.
Three awakened from our crew? What the hell are the odds? Like the universe just got bored and started handing them out like candy.
I used to feel like it meant something—like waking up to that power was some divine mark, some cosmic stamp saying you matter.
But now?
Now it feels cheap. Common. I'm not the chosen one. I'm just another name on a long, messy list.
And Tobias—he says he's an apostle now. Dead serious. Like this broken house didn't already have its fair share of lunatics, he had to go and sign up for the full sermon.
It's like he's leaning into the madness, daring the world to push him further.
I glanced at the tray on the table. Stale bread and a half-full glass of water. Gourmet, in this lovely post-Rowan economy.
Ever since he left, it's been nothing but scraping by, pinching copper until our fingers bled. No more late-night meals or mysteriously stocked shelves.
No more Rowan flashing that cocky grin, saying, Don't worry, I've got it covered.
God, it was easy back then. Before everything went to hell.
Before we had to carry the weight ourselves.
Then—
two sharp, jarring knocks. Not the kind of knock that asked to come in.
The kind that demanded it.
Loud enough to rattle the rust from the hinges, loud enough that half the damn slums probably looked up from their scraps of bread and cheap bottles wondering who was about to get their ass kicked.
My teeth clenched. Great. Another genius coming to collect what we don't owe—or worse, what we can't pay.
I was already halfway to my feet when I caught Elias moving first. Kid jumped like he'd been waiting for something to break the silence.
Ah, to be young, I thought. Elias didn't even hesitate, just stalked to the door, each step of his boots like a quiet threat on the floorboards.
His shoulders were squared, his face hard—none of that softness he used to have. Life had sanded him down since then.
He opened the door.
And froze.
Completely, utterly froze.
I was already walking before he could answer me, the tension in the air thick enough to chew.
"Who is it, Elias?" I asked, already knowing from the look on his face that it wasn't good.
Then I saw.
And everything in me just… locked up.
There he stood.
The face that haunted my sleep. The friend I once trusted more than myself. The man who left, and came back a legend, a ghost, a monster. The Devil of Tetron.
Rowan.
I didn't move. Couldn't. My brain short-circuited halfway between rage and disbelief, leaving my body to hang useless in the doorway like a broken marionette.
I probably looked like I was mid-seizure, slack-jawed and twitching with too many thoughts.
How dare he show his face here.
After everything.
Then, he raised a hand—slowly, like he thought the motion might trigger a war.
His eyes were hollow, face unreadable, cut from frost and silence.
And then, with a voice too casual for the weight it carried, he said:
"Yo."
Like no time had passed. Like nothing had broken. Like we were still friends.
"What a-are you doing here?" The words scraped out of my throat like they didn't want to be spoken.
My chest felt like it was caving in, pressure building behind my ribs, making it hard to breathe—panic prickling along my spine. Why is he here? What the hell does he want?
Elias was the one who pulled the silence back from the edge, his voice steady but thinner than usual. "Hello, Rowan. What brings you here?"
He sounded polite, like someone trying to hold the edges of a fraying thread, and though he kept his voice level, I could tell—he was bracing too.
Just quieter about it than me. Get it together, Talia. Get your damn head straight.
Rowan tilted his head slightly, hands loose at his sides, as if he'd just dropped by for a drink and not a reckoning.
"Can I come in?" he asked, and it wasn't really a question. His tone was flat, empty of emotion, of effort, like even pretending to care was beneath him now.
"Sure… come in," I muttered, already hating myself for saying it. Why did I say that? I wasn't sure I meant it. I was less sure I wanted to find out what he'd do if I said no.
He moved through the doorway like he still belonged here, footsteps unhurried. Sat down at the table like it was still his place to sit.
Like he hadn't ripped himself out of this house, out of our lives, and burned everything on the way out.
My eyes flicked toward Alicia, just in time to catch the fire in her expression—shock, fury, maybe even a little fear.
She took a step toward him, ready to speak, ready to snap—but Elias was already moving. A hand on her shoulder, gentle, firm. It was enough to stop her.
Then Rowan looked at me.
And it hit me.
Those eyes. Gods, those eyes. Still the same cold red that I saw that day, the color of pooled blood on scorched ground. Still the same dead stare that haunted my worst nights.
"Talia," he said, calm like it meant nothing. "Can you get everyone here… please?"
Please?
That bastard didn't even say 'please' when we were close. Not once. Not when we fought together.
Not when we bled side by side. What the hell was he playing at now?
With the panic still clawing faintly at the back of my ribs, I forced my limbs to move. First stop—the backyard.
I found Tobias in his usual spot, buried in a flurry of blade swings, kicking up dust with every motion like he was trying to carve the pain out of the air itself.
His shirt clung to him with sweat, breath ragged from effort, eyes locked on something invisible. Probably the past.
"Rowan's here," I said.
That was all it took. He froze mid-swing, eyes wide, and bolted toward the house so fast I barely had time to step out of the way. No hesitation. Just instinct.
Next was Handy. I found him slouched on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it owed him answers.
He didn't say a word when I told him. Just stood, slow and quiet, and followed.
And just like that, the five of us gathered again. A crew fractured and bleeding at the seams, orbiting around the man who broke it all apart.
Rowan sat there like gravity itself, pulling every gaze toward him. No one spoke. We just watched.
Like wolves with no alpha, waiting to see if we were about to be fed—or if it was time to fight.
He cleared his throat. "Well… I should probably start by saying why I'm here. It's important."
The casual tone didn't land. His expression shifted as the words left him—just a flicker, but I caught it.
A shadow crossing his face. Grim, maybe. Like the mask slipped for a second, and underneath was still a person.
So he can still feel.
But then his eyes found mine again. Locked on. Like I was the one he had to measure. Or maybe just the one he was afraid wouldn't listen.
"Talia," he said.
I stiffened. Blinked once. Then straightened my back. "Yes? What is it?"
My voice came out colder than I expected. Half curiosity, half dread. I didn't know which half would win.
He didn't flinch. Just laid it down like it was nothing. "The city contacted me today. They're issuing us an ultimatum."
The words hit like a slap. What? My thoughts scrambled, racing for reason. What kind of ultimatum? What could they possibly—
Then it clicked. Two awakened. Unregistered. Untethered.
Of course. We were walking violations. Perfect scapegoats. The city didn't need a trial—they just needed a reason.
What a bunch of conniving bastards.
"Let me guess," I said, lips curled in a half-snarl. "We either join the city or we die?"
Rowan shook his head, slow. "Close. But it's either the army… or death."
He let the weight of it settle over us like smoke. "We've got a week to decide."
The silence that followed didn't feel like quiet.