The door closed.
Softly.
Quietly.
Almost gently.
But the sound didn't feel gentle.
It echoed through the room like something heavier than it should have been—like the end of something, or the beginning of something worse.
Trisha didn't move.
For a moment, she wasn't even sure she was breathing.
Everything felt… suspended.
Like time had paused, but her thoughts hadn't.
They were racing.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Too fragmented to make sense of.
Her fingers still tingled.
She looked down slowly at her hand.
The same hand that had touched the ring.
A faint tremor ran through her fingers, subtle but persistent.
Her chest tightened as the memory—the vision—pressed forward again, refusing to stay buried.
The light.
The music.
That voice.
Her stomach twisted.
It hadn't felt like imagination.
It hadn't felt like something distant or dreamlike.
It had felt immediate.
Real.
Like she had been there.
Like she had lived it.
A sharp breath escaped her before she could stop it.
Why did it feel like something was taken from me?
The thought came suddenly, violently, cutting through everything else.
It didn't make sense.
Nothing about this made sense.
Her gaze lifted.
Slowly.
Almost hesitantly.
Rowan.
He hadn't moved.
Still standing near the table.
Still facing the door Lucien had just walked out of.
Still.
Too still.
But now that she was looking closely—
really looking—
she saw it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The slight tightening of his jaw.
The way his hands had curled just slightly, like he was holding something back.
Something dangerous.
Something controlled.
Something he wasn't letting surface.
And for the first time since she had met him—
Rowan didn't look untouchable.
He looked… unsettled.
The realization sent a quiet ripple of unease through her.
Because if Rowan didn't understand what had just happened—
then who did?
"Rowan."
Her voice came out softer than she intended.
He didn't respond.
Didn't turn.
That hesitation—that delay—pressed against her nerves harder than any answer could have.
"Rowan."
This time firmer.
Sharper.
He exhaled slowly.
Then turned.
And for a fraction of a second—
barely there—
she saw it.
Uncertainty.
It flickered across his face like something he hadn't meant to show.
And then it was gone.
Replaced with control.
With calm.
With the version of him she had learned to expect.
But she had seen it.
And now she couldn't ignore it.
"What did he mean?" she asked.
The question came out more forcefully now.
More demanding.
More real.
Rowan held her gaze.
Steady.
Careful.
"I don't know," he said.
The words landed harder than anything Lucien had said.
Her brows pulled together immediately.
"What?"
"I don't know what he was talking about."
Her breath hitched slightly.
Not in relief.
Not in understanding.
But in frustration.
Because that answer—
that simple, honest answer—
only made everything worse.
"Then what does that mean?" she pressed, her voice rising despite herself.
Her hands moved unconsciously as she spoke, restless, trying to release the tension building inside her.
"What did he mean when he said you weren't the only one waiting for me?"
The words sounded wrong even now.
Unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
Waiting.
For her?
Why?
"Why would anyone be waiting for me?" she continued, her voice tightening.
"I don't understand any of this."
Her chest rose sharply, her breathing uneven again.
"I didn't ask for any of this."
Her gaze searched his face, desperate now for something—anything—that made sense.
But Rowan didn't give her certainty.
He didn't give her clarity.
He didn't give her answers.
Only truth.
"I am trying to understand it myself. But Don't worry, we will figure it out."
His voice was calm.
Controlled.
But there was something else beneath it now.
Something she hadn't heard before.
Something real.
That stopped her.
Because he wasn't lying.
He wasn't hiding behind control or authority.
He genuinely didn't know.
And that realization made everything worse.
Because if Rowan didn't understand this—
then this was bigger than him.
And that thought unsettled her more than anything else.
"This is insane," she whispered.
She turned away from him abruptly, pacing a few steps before stopping near the window.
Her fingers pushed into her hair as she tried to steady herself.
Nothing felt stable.
Nothing felt real.
"I saw something," she said quietly.
The words shifted the air instantly.
Behind her, Rowan went still.
Completely still.
"What?" he asked immediately.
Too quickly.
Too sharply.
Her head turned.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
That reaction—
that urgency—
didn't match what he had just said.
I don't know.
Then why did this matter so much?
"What did you see?" he asked again, his voice lower now, more controlled—but no less intense.
Trisha hesitated.
Because now she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.
But the feeling—
she couldn't ignore that.
"There was a room," she said slowly.
"Large… old… like something from another time."
Her gaze unfocused slightly as she tried to pull the memory together.
"Candles. Everywhere."
Her voice softened.
"Music."
She swallowed.
"And people… but I couldn't see their faces clearly."
Rowan didn't interrupt.
Didn't move.
But something in him had changed.
She could feel it.
"There was someone holding my hand," she continued.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
"And… a voice."
A pause.
"He said I was trembling."
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
"And then…"
Her gaze dropped.
"The ring."
Her breath hitched slightly.
"It was on my hand when that man kissed it. I couldn't see his face, just his lips against my gloved fingers."
The words settled between them.
And for a moment—
no one spoke.
Rowan looked away.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Trisha noticed.
Of course she did.
Her chest tightened.
Because that reaction—
that brief shift—
meant something.
He knew something.
"Rowan."
Her voice was quieter now.
But sharper.
"If I tell you something…"
She hesitated.
Then forced herself forward.
"Will you tell me the truth? I'm scared."
The question hung between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Rowan didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Of course he didn't.
And that—
that silence—
was everything.
Trisha exhaled slowly.
A hollow, bitter sound.
"Right."
She stepped back.
Putting space between them.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
"I should have expected that."
"Trisha—"
"No."
Her voice cut through his.
Firm.
Frustrated.
"You don't get to do that."
Her chest rose sharply.
"You don't get to act like you're protecting me while hiding things from me."
The words came faster now.
More raw.
More real.
"I don't even know what's happening to me."
A pause.
"And neither do you."
That one landed.
Because it was true.
And Rowan didn't deny it.
Didn't argue.
Didn't take control.
And that—
that made everything worse.
Because now there was nothing to push against.
Only uncertainty.
"Enough both of you."
Seraphina's voice cut in.
Calm.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Both of them turned.
She stepped forward slowly, her expression composed but her eyes alert, calculating.
"This isn't helping," she said.
Her gaze moved to Trisha.
"You want answers."
Not a question.
A statement.
Trisha didn't respond.
But she didn't deny it either.
Seraphina continued.
"That ring is not new to you."
The words hit immediately.
Trisha's head snapped up.
"What?"
"Some objects carry memory," Seraphina said calmly.
"Not always clearly. Not always completely. But enough to leave an impression."
Trisha stared at her.
"That's not possible."
"In your world?" Seraphina said. "Maybe not."
A pause.
"In ours, it is."
Trisha swallowed.
Her gaze drifted again.
Back to the ring.
Still on the table.
Still waiting.
Something twisted in her chest.
Uneasy.
Pulling.
Wrong.
"You felt something," Seraphina said.
Trisha didn't answer.
Because she had.
And that was the problem.
"You think you walked into this world by accident?" Seraphina asked suddenly.
Trisha frowned.
"I didn't choose this."
"No," Seraphina said quietly.
"But that doesn't mean it wasn't always meant to happen."
That didn't help.
It only made things worse.
Trisha exhaled slowly.
Her gaze dropped again.
To the ring.
Something about it felt different now.
Not inviting.
Not curious.
But dangerous.
Like something was waiting beneath its surface.
Something she shouldn't touch again.
She hesitated.
Her instincts screamed at her not to.
But her hand moved anyway.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Her fingers closed around the ring.
And pain hit instantly.
Sharp.
Burning.
Her breath caught violently as the sensation shot through her hand, up her arm, straight into her chest.
"Ah—"
Her knees nearly gave out.
It wasn't just pain.
It was something worse.
Something suffocating.
Like the walls were closing in.
Like she was being trapped inside something she couldn't escape.
Her heart pounded wildly.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Her vision blurred slightly at the edges.
Something is wrong.
The thought screamed through her mind.
Something is going to go wrong.
"Trisha!"
Rowan was in front of her instantly.
His hand gripping her wrist.
Pulling the ring from her grasp.
The pain vanished the moment it left her skin.
But the feeling—
that dread—
lingered.
She staggered slightly, her breath uneven, her chest tight.
"What was that?" she whispered.
Her voice shaking now.
Rowan didn't answer.
But his expression had changed.
Not just concern.
Something darker.
Something deeper.
But he masked it quickly.
Too quickly.
Seraphina was watching closely now.
Her gaze sharp.
Focused.
Understanding more than she was saying.
Trisha looked between them.
Her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"That wasn't normal," she said.
No one disagreed.
Silence followed again.
But this time—
it wasn't just tension.
It was fear.
Real.
Unavoidable.
Her gaze drifted back to Rowan.
"You knew something," she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
Didn't confirm.
Didn't deny.
And that—
was answer enough.
Her chest tightened.
Not just from fear now.
But something else.
Something colder.
Something more personal.
"Then tell me," she said.
But her voice didn't hold anger anymore.
Just exhaustion.
"Because I'm done trying to understand this alone."
Rowan looked at her.
Really looked this time.
And for a moment—
something in his expression shifted.
Not control.
Not authority.
Something else.
Something human.
But it didn't last.
Because whatever he knew—
he still wasn't ready to say.
And that—
was the real problem.
Trisha exhaled slowly.
Her gaze dropped once more.
To the ring.
Now resting on the table again.
Silent.
Still.
But no longer harmless.
Her fingers curled slightly.
But she didn't reach for it again.
Not this time.
Because now—
she knew.
Whatever that thing carried—
it wasn't just memory.
It was something worse.
Something unfinished.
Something dangerous.
Her voice came out soft.
Barely above a whisper.
"Who was I?"
The question settled into the room.
Heavy.
Unanswered.
And far more dangerous—
than any of them were ready to admit.