London was already awake, horns blaring, buses rumbling, and the constant shuffle of commuters weaving through the cold morning air. The world moved normally, oblivious to the fact that a warehouse in a quiet alley had whispered a woman's name as if calling her home.
Elanor and Isabella walked fast, almost running, neither of them speaking. The fog clung to their clothes, to their hair, to the shock still trembling beneath their skin. Only when they reached the main road bright, loud, open did Isabella finally stop.
"El…" Her voice cracked. "That… that wasn't real. It couldn't be."
Elanor turned to her, eyes sharp, steady. "It was real."
"No," Isabella insisted, shaking her head violently. "Smoke doesn't form a hand. Doors don't open on their own. My name doesn't just appear on a wall in whatever language that was"
"Isabella," Elanor said firmly.
She froze.
His tone not cold, not gentle, but grounding pulled her back from spiraling.
"Look at me."
Slowly, she did.
Her breaths were uneven, pupils dilated, skin pale beneath the faint morning light.
Elanor lowered his voice. "You're in shock. It's normal."
"What part of that is normal?" she whispered.
Elanor stepped closer, closing the distance in a way that felt protective without touching her. "Nothing about what happened is normal. But you're not losing your mind. I saw it too."
She swallowed hard.
"El… that voice. It said"
"I heard it," he cut in gently. "We're not imagining anything."
Isabella pressed a hand to her forehead. "Then what does it want from me?"
Elanor wished he had an answer.
He didn't.
"Right now," he said softly, "we get you somewhere safe."
Isabella exhaled shakily. "Your apartment?"
He shook his head. "Too predictable."
She blinked. "Mine?"
"Even worse."
"Then where?"
Elanor grabbed her hand.
She startled but didn't pull away.
"My office," he said. "Top floor, restricted access. Only I have the key."
Isabella hesitated but nodded.
They walked quickly, weaving through crowds. Behind them, the morning swallowed the alley whole, as if nothing had ever happened there.
Not a whisper.
Not a symbol.
Not a name painted on concrete.
But Isabella kept looking back.
As if the city might follow her.
Elanor's private office sat on the 36th floor of a glass tower overlooking the Thames. It wasn't polished like the Moreau headquarters less corporate, more controlled. Dark wood. Clean lines. Locked files. A space built for someone who preferred silence over chaos.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Isabella exhaled and leaned against the glass wall.
"El…"
He turned on the small kettle near the corner.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm aware," she shot back, voice thin. "My name was on a wall, Elanor."
"I know."
"And something whispered."
"I know."
"And the marble"
"Isabella."
She stopped.
Elanor walked toward her, holding a warm mug with both hands. "Drink."
She didn't take it.
"El, you don't understand"
"I do," he said simply.
Her breath faltered.
"Because you're not the only one with a past you don't talk about."
Her eyes softened, confusion flickering through them.
"El…"
He handed her the cup. This time, she took it.
Warmth touched her palms.
A small, grounding weight.
She sipped slowly.
Her heartbeat steadied barely but steadied.
Elanor leaned against the desk, arms folded, watching her with the quiet intensity he rarely let anyone see.
"We need to treat this like any other threat," he said. "Rationally. Strategically."
Isabella gave a thin laugh. "Rational? El, a glowing symbol just shifted on its own."
"Then we adapt."
"And the voice?"
"We find who or what is behind it."
"And the name written on the wall?"
Elanor's jaw tightened. "That's the part that concerns me most."
Isabella looked down at her hands.
"El… do you think I knew that place? Somehow?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You told me you grew up moving constantly."
"Yes."
"You said you never stayed in one place long enough to form memories."
"Yes."
"You also said your childhood feels… incomplete."
Her breath hitched.
"El.."
"You think I didn't notice?" he continued. "You avoid talking about anything before age twelve. You flinch at dark confined spaces. You freeze when you hear certain sounds you can't explain."
Her throat tightened. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Elanor murmured, "that someone is trying to force you to remember something you've buried."
Isabella's hands tightened around the mug.
"El… you think my mind erased something?"
"Yes."
"And now it's coming back?"
"Yes."
She closed her eyes.
"Elanor… I don't want to remember."
His expression softened but his words didn't.
"That doesn't matter."
Her eyes shot open.
"El.."
"Whatever this is," he said quietly, "it won't stop because you're afraid of it."
She shook her head, panic growing again. "But what if remembering is the point? What if that's what it wants?"
Elanor stepped closer, lowering his forehead to hers not touching but close enough that she could feel his breath.
"Then it picked the wrong person to threaten."
Her lips parted.
"El.."
He pulled away, walking toward his desk.
"We're not going back tonight," he said. "But we will. With preparation."
Isabella swallowed. "What kind of preparation?"
Elanor opened a locked drawer and retrieved a slim black device.
A handheld thermal scanner.
And beneath it.
A compact black handgun.
Isabella stiffened. "El…"
He checked the magazine calmly.
"You think a gun will help against whatever that was?"
"No," he said plainly. "But it'll help against whoever placed the messages. And I don't believe in coincidences."
She exhaled.
"Elanor… what if we're being watched?"
His gaze lifted to her sharp, focused, possessive in a way that wasn't romantic but protective in its purest form.
"Then let them watch."
Isabella froze.
"Because the only thing more dangerous than you remembering," he said softly,
"is me remembering who I become when someone tries to take what's mine."
Her breath caught at the weight of those last two words.
"El…"
He set the gun down.
"Isabella, listen to me."
She didn't move.
"You are not alone. You are not losing your mind. And whatever is coming whatever is trying to drag your past into your present"
His voice lowered, darker:
"It will go through me first."
Isabella pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
"El…"
A soft knock rattled the office door.
Both of them froze.
No one had clearance to be here.
No one should even know this floor existed.
Elanor's hand slipped to the gun.
Isabella's breath stopped.
The knock came again.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Not impatient.
Expectant.
"El…" Isabella whispered, "don't open it."
But Elanor already knew whoever stood behind that door
hadn't come by accident.
He stepped forward.
Isabella grabbed his arm tight.
"Elanor."
He whispered only one thing, calm and certain:
"Stay behind me."
And he reached for the door handle
pulling it open
to face whatever waited on the other side.