Lia was back in her bed. The only light came from the faint glow of the courtyard lanterns leaking through the window. Her breath was shaky, uneven. The blanket had wrapped itself over her head like a heavy cloak, like she was trying to vanish from the world, from her own thoughts.

  But nothing could shut out the chaos raging inside her.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, silent and unstoppable, sliding down her cheeks before she could do a thing about it. She’d promised herself she’d stay in control. Not let this madness pull her under.

  But it was too much. Too much pain. Too many questions. And that name, again and again, ringing in her skull like some cursed echo.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispered bitterly as the tears stung her skin. The fury in her built, wild and raw.

  She’d never thought of herself as soft. Never someone who’d let another person fuck with her like this. But Ezra? Ezra had done it. He’d torn right through her defenses without her even noticing.

  It wasn’t just lust, or attraction, it was his whole damn presence.

  And it was dangerous.

  She knew it. Even if part of her still tried to deny it.

  He wasn’t just some fallen angel. He was a damn playboy.

  And she’d caught herself drawn to his shadow, understanding him in ways that freaked her the hell out.

  “I’m gonna avoid him. For good,” she swore to herself, the words burning into her brain. But deep down, she knew it was a lie. She wouldn’t escape him. Not now that he had obviously one foot planted in her soul.

  She wiped her face with a rough swipe of her hand, trying to chase off the last of the tears. The pain stayed, though, sharp and constant in her chest. She couldn’t fall into that spiral again. That split-apart chaos.

  “Yes, just ignore” she whispered to herself again, curling to her side, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself like it could somehow keep the world out. But even that felt like a damn lie.

  She stared into the dark. The room was silent, except for the fast thud of her heart.

  And then… This sound again.

  Barely there. So soft, so haunting, she almost missed it.

  But it was there. The Breathing. The whisper. “Lia.”

  A chill crept down her spine. Something unnatural. Something that filled her mind with shadow. Lia sat up with a jolt. Her chest pounded again, breath shallow, panicking. Her hand shot out from under the blanket, grabbing the lamp off the nightstand like it was a weapon, like it could shield her from whatever the hell was out there. She threw the rest of the blanket away from her face, her eyes widened, lips pressed into a tight line as rage surged through her veins.

  “I SAID LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!”

  Her voice cracked through the silence, tore through the heavy stillness. But the room didn’t change. No answer. No sign. The air thickened, like something unseen had stepped right up to the edge of her world.

  There. On her bed, without and weight sat a boy, like he’d just slipped out of the folds of her blanket without her noticing.

  He wore light blue linen pants, a plain white shirt. Blonde hair tousled as he’d just woken up from a storm. But the grin on his face. that wasn’t a kid’s smile. It was cold, mocking, almost devilish. And the glowing red Sign in bis check.

  “Want me to snap her neck for you?” he asked, like he was talking about the weather.

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  His voice was soft, but with something twisted behind it. Lia stared, jaw dropped, still trembling with anger and confusion.

  Her hand clenched into a fist. She wanted to speak or to move but the boy didn't attack her, so why would she?

  “What… who the hell are you?” she forced out, voice cracking, still holding the lamp above her like a shield.

  The boy giggled, a sound so wrong it made her skull throb. He slid a little closer. “Eyra,” he said, like she should’ve already known, reaching out his tiny hand. Like he’d been expecting her to shake it.

  She suddenly noticed the smell. Then the chirping.

  “You… you’re a Cavata?” she whispered. Her eyes still narrowed. Her whole body went taut but she finally let the lamp sank.

  “Yeah. The part Mal wanted to get rid of,” Eyra said, shrugging like he was talking about an old toy.

  “Guess I don’t gotta explain much, huh?”

  Lia felt her blood boil. The way he said it, like it was no big deal. “Explain? You exist to hurt people. What the fuck do you want from me?” Eyra tilted his head, amused by her rage like it was a game. “Don’t be so mean,” he said, grinning even wider. And for a second, the whole room seemed to light up with that grin. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Promise.”

  She tried to swallow the knot in her throat. Everything in her screamed trap. But then something clicked. “You said… you’re a part of Maliel?”

  Eyra looked at her like she’d asked the world’s dumbest question.

  “That’s what i said. Mal’s… busy,” he waved it off. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still have a little fun.” A cold wave washed over her as the weight of those words sank in.

  A Cavata.

  But not just any.

  Maliel’s.

  The name hit her like a punch. Her mind reeled.

  “But… you’re a kid?” she asked, her voice barely holding it together, staring at him like he was a glitch in reality. “Only if I wanna be,” Eyra said, smirking like the devil’s little brother. He fiddled with her blanket, tying knots in it like it was nothing.

  “So you’re a Cavata, look like a kid, and say you used to belong to Maliel?” She shook her head, like she could snap out of it. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “Why ask when you don’t really wanna hear the answer?” he said softly and just for a second, almost sad. But then the grin came back, and he leaned back like he was watching a movie. Lia locked eyes with him. She wanted to shut him out. Pretend he wasn’t real.

  But he was too damn vivid. Too real. And her resolve, fragile as it was, clicked back into place.

  She couldn’t handle this on her own. She needed Maliel.

  She bolted out of her room. The hallway was cold. Walls closing in. She had no time to waste.

  She slammed her fist against his door. Footsteps.

  Maliel opened it with tired eyes. But as soon as he saw her face, he knew that something was wrong.

  “Lia? What’s—?”

  “I just met Eyra,” she blurted out. “ Does that Name ring a bell?”

  Maliel’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed with a sharpness that scared her.

  He stepped aside, letting her in.

  “That’s not possible,” he said, voice low and rough. “Ezra killed him before I was captured.”

  Lia blinked. “Ezra? Ezra killed Eyra?” She shook her head. “Then why the hell is he in my room?”

  “You probably dreamed it,” Maliel said coolly. A little too sharp. “I’d know if he were still alive.”

  Lia rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, he’s real. He’s in my room. Alive!”

  Maliel opened his mouth to argue but there then he suddenly sniffed die Air. With a blink, Eyra appeared in the doorway without any other warning. Grinning from ear to ear. Childlike and vicious.

  “Hi,” he said, voice like a fae giggle- sweet and sharp. He slid down the doorframe with all the elegance of a bored cat.

  Maliel stared.

  Then cursed something deep, guttural and ancient.

  Eyra just shrugged, flopping into the doorway like a king on his throne. “Well, damn,” he said with a grin.

  The year was 1885, and Ezra was out hunting. The air was damp, the wind whipped across the beach as Ezra walked with muffled steps toward the shadow that stood at the water's edge. It was quiet, the sound of the waves mixed with the soft hiss of the wind.

  Eyra sat there, his eyes fixed on the sea as if he knew the moment of death was near. The cavata was little more than a silhouette in the twilight, a boy staring into the distance with a strangely melancholy calm.

  The boy turned slowly, his face distorted by the wrinkles of chaos, but there was none of the cruelty in his eyes that Ezra had expected. No hatred, no brokenness. Just emptiness, as if he had long since stopped believing in the evil that the other Cavata kept so alive.

  "You're one of those crazy bastard," Eyra murmured with a crooked smile that expressed more exhaustion than joy. "You can't just kill me."

  But something in that moment stopped him. He couldn't believe it, but he felt it - this was not the Cavata he had expected. The others he had hunted had been darkness in its purest form. But Eyra seemed different. Almost human.

  Ezra stood motionless for a moment, his eyes fixed on him. The moonlight reflected off the water, making the image of the boy on the beach almost ghostly. And then, after a long, agonizing silence, Ezra lowered his gun. A sigh of relief escaped him, as if he had let go of something unspeakable.

  "Leave," Ezra finally said. His voice was raspy, as if he had just fought a battle with his own thoughts. Eyra looked at him, the smirk in his eyes disappearing as he straightened. He seemed surprised, but not afraid. Without another word, he turned and slowly disappeared into the darkness, the wind blowing around his linen pants as he moved out of Ezra's reach.

  Ezra stayed behind, his eyes fixed on the sea. He knew this wasn't the end. But in that moment, he had discovered something else within himself - an ambiguity that tormented him as much as it freed him. And in that moment, Ezra understood that not every Cavata was destined to die. But that didn't change the fact that he was still the fallen angel, fighting his own demons.

  And now, over a century later, that mistake had come back.