Luelle watches silently from the shadows as Ethan drifts to sleep. She knows that this is wrong on so many levels, this is stalking, something that normal people frown upon. Well, she was not normal...and neither were Ethan.
He had a rough day today, like most of his days, but today he had a meeting with the elders and that usually pushes him to the edge. He will have the nightmares again and she cannot stand him being alone when the nightmares come.
She has watched Ethan since she was a little girl, always from the shadows, because that is who she is...the girl in the shadows, the one nobody must know about. She was the shadow and Ethan the light, two parts of the same organization. She knew about him, but he was not allowed to know about her. She was the shadow that was trained to be his protector.
A moan from the bed draws her attention back to the man who she loves more than her own life. She steps closer.
"Shhhh...everything is okay, you are safe" She whispers.
His hand reaches out blindly, fingers searching the air and she takes it. She is close now, so close now she can see the fine lines around his mouth and eyes, the ones carved by duty, by pressure, by the weight of a legacy he never asked for.
His eye lids flicker, she pulls her hand back on reflex — but his grip tightens, strong even in sleep, anchoring her in place.
Her pulse stutters.
His breathing shifts — calmer now, deeper, the jagged edges of the nightmare smoothing out. The tension in eases. The tremor in his fingers fades. The nightmare that hovered at the edge of his sleep dissolved, banished by her presence.
"O Ethan…"
Luelle drops to her knees beside the bed, the movement silent, instinctive. Her eyes trace the lines of his face — a face she knows as intimately as her own reflection. She has studied it in moonlight, in firelight, in the glow of surveillance screens. She has memorized every shift of expression, every scar, every shadow. She has been here countless nights before, guarding him from threats both tangible and intangible. Monsters in the dark. Monsters in his mind. Monsters wearing the Dominion's crest.
"Ghost Girl." The words scrape out of him, gruff and half‑formed, thick with sleep.
Her heart stops.
Luelle tries to pull her hand back, but his grip tightens — firm, warm, unmistakably real. A tether. A claim he doesn't even know he's making. She freezes, breath caught in her throat.
His eyes remain closed, lashes trembling against his skin. He is still deep in sleep, still lost somewhere between nightmare and memory. But he feels her. Somehow, he always has. Even when he shouldn't. Even when the Dominion scrubbed every trace of her from his life.
His fingers relax around hers, but he doesn't let go.
Luelle leans in, unable to stop herself. The shadows cling to her, but for once they feel thin, fragile, like they might tear if she moves too quickly.
He shouldn't be able to sense her presence. But he does. And it terrifies her more than any enemy ever has. Because if he remembers her in dreams…
He might remember her in waking.
Ethan shifts — not the restless twitch of a nightmare, but something slower, heavier. Awareness begins to seep into him like light through a cracked door. His fingers tighten around hers, not in panic now, but with purpose. He pulls her closer.
Luelle's breath stutters. For a heartbeat she forgets how to move, how to think. This is wrong. This is dangerous. This is everything she has spent thirteen years avoiding.
His brow furrows, his lips parting as if he's trying to speak a name he shouldn't know. His other hand lifts, searching blindly, brushing the air near her cheek. He is still asleep — she can see it in the unfocused flutter of his eyelids, the softness in his jaw.
Yet something in him recognizes her. Something buried. Something forbidden. Something the Dominion failed to erase.
"Ghost Girl…" he murmurs again, voice rough, thick with sleep.
Luelle's heart clenches. That name is a knife and a lifeline all at once. A name he started calling the girl he saw in his dreams, the girl that protects him against the nightmares, someone he believes does not really exists.
She leans in, unable to stop herself. The shadows cling to her like they're trying to pull her back, but Ethan's grip is stronger. His fingers curl around hers with a familiarity that should be impossible.
"Ethan," she whispers, barely audible. "You're dreaming. Let go."
But he doesn't.
He pulls her closer still, until she can feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. His face tilts toward her, instinctively seeking the presence he isn't supposed to remember.
His voice drops to a whisper, raw and unguarded.
"Don't leave."
The words hit her like a blow.
He is asleep.
He doesn't know what he's saying.
He doesn't know who he's saying it to.
But the plea is real.
Luelle's throat tightens. She should pull away. She should vanish back into the shadows before he wakes and sees her — before everything unravels.
But she stays.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to feel what it would be like if he remembered her.
If he chose her.
If she wasn't a ghost.
His breathing steadies, deep and even. The nightmare is gone. The danger — the emotional kind — is not.
Luelle closes her eyes.
She knows she has to let go.
But his hand is still wrapped around hers, and for the first time in thirteen years, she doesn't know if she's strong enough to break free.