They said Noctis Corporation didn't hire people. It chose them.
The black-glass tower pierced the skyline like a needle stabbing the heavens, swallowing clouds and casting shadows across the city below. At its base stood Elinora Vale, umbrella in one hand, a slim leather-bound portfolio in the other. Rain lashed around her, but none of it touched her—not a drop.
The storm knew better.
She tilted her chin up. Forty-eight floors to the top. Her reflection stared back from the glass—composed, unreadable. Beneath that calm: fire. Cold, ancient fire.
This is it. Seven years. Seven cursed years for this moment.
Inside, the lobby was silent. No receptionist, no security guards. Just polished floors, mirrored walls, and a golden screen that flickered one name:
KILLIAN DUSK — CEO.
The elevator hummed as it rose, too smooth to be mundane. The higher it climbed, the heavier the air grew—magic hanging thick like fog. By the time the doors slid open, Elinora's breath misted in front of her.
The penthouse office stretched like a cathedral of shadows—floor-to-ceiling windows, rain streaking the glass like falling starlight. A single desk sat like a throne's altar, carved from obsidian and lit only by the soft glow of arcane sigils.
Behind it, he sat.
Killian Dusk.
He didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
Even seated, he radiated control—the kind of power that didn't need to announce itself. Midnight-black suit. Stark silver cufflinks. Hair a little too unruly to be perfectly styled, but deliberate enough to be dangerous. And his eyes…
Cold. Unblinking. Like watching something burn behind glass.
"You're not on the schedule," he said without glancing her way.
Elinora stepped forward, heels clicking with precision. She placed her portfolio on his desk, flipped it open, and said, "Neither was the apocalypse. And yet, here we are."
That got his attention.
Killian's eyes lifted—slowly. Measured. He examined her the way a wolf examines a stranger who doesn't smell like prey.
"Elinora Vale," he murmured. "Graduated top of your class. Vanished for two years. Reappeared last month with references from institutions that haven't existed in over a decade."
She smiled. "I'm efficient."
"I'd say suspicious."
"Suspicion implies I've done something wrong. You, of all people, should know efficiency often requires bending reality."
He leaned back, tapping a finger against the desk—rhythmic, calculated. A pattern she recognized. The cadence of spellcasting.
"Elinora Vale," he repeated. "Applying for the position of executive secretary?"
"I'm not here for a desk and a nameplate," she replied. "I'm here for what comes with it."
A flicker crossed his face. Amusement? Annoyance? It was hard to tell with a man who wore his soul like a locked vault.
"And what," he asked, "do you think that is?"
"Access. Power. Secrets." She paused, then added coolly, "The kind only a Soulbound Lord would keep."
The air fractured.
Magic surged—fast and furious, ancient and furious. Killian stood in a blink, crossing the room without footsteps. His presence hit her like a tidal wave, stopping just short of touch. His hand hovered at her jaw, tendrils of dark energy curling between them like smoke.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "What are you?"
Elinora's eyes shimmered. A flicker of silver beneath the brown. Not fully hidden. Not anymore.
"The last curse you forgot."
His spell flared. Hers caught it—mirrored, twisted, absorbed. Power slammed into power, but neither yielded. A stalemate. A challenge.
Then, silence.
He stepped back and laughed. Once. Low and dark. "Damn. I really like you."
She straightened her blouse, as if they hadn't just nearly ripped the veil of the world.
"Then hire me."
"I should kill you."
"You tried," she replied. "Didn't stick."
Another pause. Then, he turned away, walking back to his desk like she hadn't just threatened his immortality.
"You start tonight," he said. "Midnight briefing. The contract is blood-bound. Clause 13 covers death, demonic possession, and soul taxation."
"I made notes," she said. "Clause 13 is too vague on the resurrection clause."
He glanced at her again—this time, slower. Studying.
"Welcome to Noctis."
And though his words were casual, something older stirred beneath them.
Welcome back.