The moonlight bled silver through the sheer curtain. It painted the stone walls like a blessing—or a warning.

Caelan stood just inside the balcony, shadows clinging to him like loyal hounds. His cloak was silent. His boots softer than breath. The dagger at his hip had not been drawn. Not yet.

He didn’t know her name. Not this life. Only that she was the Princess, the daughter of his kingdom’s oldest enemy. She had spoken in council, once. He hadn’t looked at her then. Couldn’t. Every time his gaze lingered too long, something twisted inside him. Familiar. Wrong.

Tonight, he would end it. Before it could begin again.

His gloved hands shook—not from fear. From something stranger. Something ancient. He crossed the room in four silent steps. Her figure was still beneath the gauze canopy, curled in sleep. Soft breathing. Vulnerable.

He knelt at the edge of the bed. The moon crowned her in light, and for a moment, he faltered.

Don’t look at her. Just do it. Just do it.

His fingers slid beneath her chin.

One breath.

Another.

Then his hands moved—slowly, purposefully—to her throat. Skin beneath his palms. Warm. Fragile.

Then—

Pain. Light. Memory.

A floodgate shattered behind his eyes. It wasn’t a trickle. It wasn’t gradual. It was a damn storm—fire, blood, laughter, kisses stolen in corridors, steel clashing, a wedding in secret, a cliff and the fall, and the stars—always the stars.

Nineteen lifetimes. Her lips, whispering his name. Her blood on his hands in life twelve. Her lullaby as he died in life six. Her last kiss in life nineteen, gasping as the palace burned.

He fell back, choking on a sob he didn’t remember starting.

She slept. Unmoved. Unknowing. Untouched by the fire raging behind his eyes.

He dropped to his knees.

“...Gods,” he whispered, breathless, broken, forehead pressed to the floor. “Gods, it’s you.”

She stirred.

He froze.

She sat up slowly, blinked in the dark.

“Don’t scream,” he said, voice shaking but soft. “Please. Please don’t scream. I—It’s not what it looks like.”

Her eyes found his. Suspicion bloomed. The distance between them felt like an abyss now.

“I know you don’t remember,” he said gently. “But I do. I remember everything. I know it sounds mad, but you—we’ve lived before. Nineteen times. And we’ve died—together. Over and over. And you don’t know me now, I understand that, but... if you let me touch you—just once—you’ll know too.”

Silence.

He reached out his hand.

“No blades. No lies. Just... this. Please. I swear to you, if I’m wrong—if none of it is real—you can scream, you can run, you can have me executed at dawn.” His voice cracked. “But if I’m right... and I know I’m right... you’ll remember why I could never hurt you.”

His hand hovered inches from hers, trembling in moonlight.

“Please,” Caelan whispered. “Let me come back to you, my love.”