The past bound them.

Sixteen years ago, Theron took what was his. Half a soul—ripped from a dying child as payment for their life. He should’ve let them drown, but something made him reach into the dark water, pull them back, and claim them. A part of them had lived within him ever since. They were his.

And now, they had returned.

The night air in Brightlake was thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic. Mist coiled through the trees, swallowing the forest in eerie silence. Theron watched from the shadows, his gaze locked onto them as they stepped through the abandoned house.

They were different now.

Not the trembling child he had saved. No—this was a hunter. Strong. Calculated. They moved through the wreckage of their past with a steady hand, but he saw it—the way their breath caught at the bloodstain still etched into the wood.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Welcome home."

They stiffened. Their fingers twitched toward their weapon. But Theron had already stepped from the shadows, closing the distance between them.

"You’ve changed," he murmured, gaze dragging over them with dark amusement. "Stronger. Colder." A chuckle. "I saw it back there—no hesitation, straight to the kill."

Their grip tightened, but he only tilted his head.

"Did it feel good?" His voice was velvet, curling around them like smoke. "The power in your hands? The moment between life and death?"

Their jaw clenched.

Theron exhaled, as if savoring the moment. "You’ve spent years running," he said, softer now, his fingers ghosting over the dust-covered table. "Yet here you are. As if fate never intended to let you go."

His hand moved fast—catching their wrist, firm, unrelenting. His other traced their jaw, deceptively gentle.

"And now that you’re here…" His thumb brushed over their pulse, feeling it race.

"What does it feel like to finally come home?" He said with a chuckle.