Rosaline's POV
The silence of the penthouse wasn't empty—it throbbed. I could feel it in the walls, the polished floors, and the corners I never dared to walk into when the lights were off. The silence whispered, hissed, and breathed.
Something had changed after the fire.
My ankle had healed quickly, too quickly. Adam had said nothing about it, but I'd seen the flicker of concern in his eyes, the way his gaze kept drifting to my skin as though expecting it to do something unnatural. I was starting to expect it too.
I stood barefoot in the hallway, staring at that door again—the one that remained shut no matter what I tried. It was old, not in a physical sense, but with a kind of energy that made it feel ancient. There were symbols carved faintly around the doorknob—symbols I hadn't noticed the first few times. And each time I passed, the pendant under my skin would pulse.
It was pulsing now.
Behind me, the elevator hissed.
"You're staring at it again," Adam said, his voice calm, unreadable.
"I wasn't staring." I crossed my arms. "I was thinking."
"Same difference." He moved to stand beside me. He smelled like midnight—cool, clean, and slightly metallic.
We both looked at the door in silence.
"You said you don't remember what's inside," I said.
"I don't."
"You're lying."
He didn't flinch. "Maybe I am."
"Why?"
"Because I don't think you're ready."
I turned to him, my temper rising. "Then what am I ready for, Adam? Because I'm living in your house, hunted by people I don't understand, carrying a pendant I didn't choose, and apparently healing like a freaking werewolf. So please, enlighten me—what am I ready for?"
He held my gaze for a long time. There was a storm in his eyes, but it was locked behind centuries of control.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Get dressed."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"We're leaving. There's a place I want to show you."
"Now?"
"Now."
The road curved like a ribbon through the mountains. He drove with one hand, his profile sharp against the pale dawn light. I watched him in silence, wondering what kind of man could remain so silent after everything we'd been through.
He wasn't just quiet. He was still—in a way that felt unnatural, like his body had learned not to waste movement, not to tremble even under pressure.
Vampire, I reminded myself.
But that word felt too small for what he really was.
After two hours, the road ended in a dirt path swallowed by trees. We walked the rest of the way. The forest was alive with birdsong, but even that felt distant, like it was giving us space.
I followed him through moss and fog until the trees broke.
Ruins.
They emerged like bones—arched stone columns, half-swallowed by ivy, fractured marble stairs leading to nowhere, and in the center, a cracked altar with wind-scarred symbols.
I stepped forward, breath caught.
"I know this place," I said softly.
"You should."
The pendant blazed beneath my skin.
I turned to him. "This is Devani, isn't it? Or what's left of it?"
"One of the outposts," he said. "A sanctuary. The magic here has been dead for centuries. But some part of it remembers you."
I walked to the altar. The wind rose, lifting my hair. The symbols began to glow faintly.
As I touched the stone, my mind flooded with visions.
A woman—no, me—standing here once before, arms raised to the stars, surrounded by others dressed in silver. The same pendant glowed on her chest. She was powerful, commanding, and—
I fell back, gasping.
Adam caught me.
"What did you see?"
"I—I don't know. Myself. But not… now. She was older. Stronger."
"Memory residue," he said quietly. "This place echoes with the past."
I looked up at him. "What am I, Adam?"
He knelt beside me.
"You are the last of your line," he said. "And the key to what comes next."
"What is coming?"
He hesitated.
Then, softly, "The Reclamation."
The sky had deepened by the time we returned to the ruins' edge. We sat on a flat stone near the altar, silence growing thick around us again.
"Do you believe in fate?" I asked, not looking at him.
"I don't have the luxury not to."
"Then tell me the truth. Why am I really here, Adam?"
He leaned back on his palms, staring at the dark canopy above. "Because I failed. Once."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Years ago, I was tasked with protecting the bloodline. I wasn't supposed to let it end. But I couldn't stop what happened. And now you're the last."
"Who gave you that task?"
He didn't answer.
My throat felt tight. "Why do I feel like you know more about me than I do?"
"Because I do," he said, not cruelly. Just… honestly.
"I hate it."
"I know."
Then I turned toward him. "Then why do I trust you?"
He looked at me.
And there was something in his eyes—something that stripped the layers of time and power and danger. Just a man. A broken one.
"Maybe because part of you remembers me," he said quietly.
The wind stirred again. This time, it carried the scent of coming rain.