The corridors of the Moreau estate held their breath as evening fell.
Muted gold light slanted through the tall windows, slicing shadows across marble floors. Somewhere in the distance, the muted clink of silverware drifted from the formal dining room where Vincent and the others had retreated after the board meeting fallout.
Aria didn't follow.
Her body hummed with a tension she couldn't bleed out in the open.
She needed air — or at least the illusion of it.
She slipped away through quieter halls, the ones the staff used to disappear unnoticed, until she reached the secondary study — a smaller, older room tucked near the back of the east wing.
No cameras here.
No audience.
Just cracked leather chairs, a half-empty bookshelf, and a fire that burned low and sullen in the hearth, as if it, too, resented the world it illuminated.
Aria closed the door quietly behind her.
The space smelled faintly of cedar and smoke, undercut by the sterile tang of polish. Someone maintained the room, but no one lived in it anymore.
Good.
She crossed to the small bar tucked against the wall and poured herself a glass of water.
The pitcher trembled faintly in her hand before she tightened her grip.
Control yourself.
She sipped slowly, grounding herself.
One victory didn't mean anything here.
One smart move wouldn't change what she was in their eyes.
Still a threat.
Still an inconvenience.
Still a mistake someone should have erased long ago.
She pressed her free hand lightly against the cool surface of the desk, breathing through the thrum of restless energy coiling in her veins.
The door creaked.
Aria tensed automatically, heart tightening once — ready for Selene's sneer, Juliet's petty triumph, even Vincent's blade of indifference.
But it was Noel.
He stood framed in the doorway, holding a thin file under one arm.
The firelight caught the angles of his face — more worn than she remembered, sharper, but still devastatingly familiar.
He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw her — the easy stride faltering, the practiced smile dimming just slightly.
Then he moved again, closing the door behind him with a soft click, like he hadn't hesitated at all.
Aria said nothing.
Neither did he.
Noel crossed the room unhurriedly and set the file on the corner of the desk, the movement casual, precise. His jacket stretched slightly at the shoulders as he straightened, rolling the tension out of his spine.
He didn't look at her immediately.
Neither did she.
The fire cracked in the silence, its embers muttering secrets neither of them spoke aloud.
Finally, Noel's voice broke the space between them.
"You handled yourself well today."
A simple statement. No fanfare. No insincerity.
Aria turned her head slightly, studying him from beneath her lashes.
"Is that why you're here?" she asked, voice cool, even. "To offer a review?"
Something flickered behind Noel's eyes — not offense. Amusement, maybe.
Recognition.
"No," he said easily. "I was passing through."
A lie.
Aria knew it.
But she let it pass.
She returned her gaze to the glass in her hands, tilting it just enough to watch the firelight ripple across the surface of the water.
"What the board thinks," she said quietly, "doesn't matter."
Noel leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossing over his chest in a slow, unhurried motion.
"Maybe not to you," he said. "But it matters to him."
Vincent.
Always Vincent.
Always the weight of expectations written in silence, carved into every glance and wordless command.
Aria lifted her glass to her lips, savoring the chill against her mouth.
"I'm not here to impress anyone," she said.
Noel's gaze sharpened.
"No," he said softly. "You're here to survive."
The words settled between them like a marker drawn in the dust.
Aria didn't flinch.
Didn't argue.
Because he was right.
The fire crackled again, a low, splintered sound.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Aria could feel Noel watching her — not staring, not assessing like the board had, but studying her in a way that was quieter. More dangerous.
As if he were searching for something he'd once known by heart.
Aria set the glass down carefully, the faint click of it meeting wood loud in the hush.
"Landmines everywhere," Noel said lightly, his mouth curling into something close to a smile. "If you ever need a map…"
He trailed off.
Offering, without demanding.
It startled her more than anything else had that day.
Aria's fingers tightened briefly on the edge of the desk before she forced herself to relax.
"I'll manage," she said.
But it came out softer than she intended.
Noel nodded once — a slow, deliberate movement.
No offense. No pressure.
Acceptance.
Aria turned toward the bar again, refilling her glass more for the motion than the need.
The fire's reflection rippled in the cut of the crystal.
As she poured, her thumb brushed unconsciously across the inside of her palm.
A small, repetitive motion.
A nervous tic she hadn't realized survived the fracture of her lives.
Rub. Pause. Rub.
Comforting the skin without thinking.
Behind her, she felt the shift in Noel — so small most people would've missed it.
But not her.
She turned her head just enough to catch it — the way he stiffened, the way the easy line of his shoulders coiled tight.
Noel was staring at her hand.
At the unconscious motion she hadn't even realized she was making.
At the ghost of something he shouldn't remember.
Aria set the pitcher down with a precise, quiet click.
Turned fully.
Faced him.
Their eyes locked across the narrow space of the room, and for a moment, there was nothing else — no firelight, no estate, no Vincent, no legacy.
Just a stretch of memory they weren't supposed to share.
Aria lifted her chin slightly, defenses snapping up like steel walls.
"Something wrong?"
Noel blinked once — slow, deliberate — and shook his head.
"Déjà vu," he said lightly, too lightly.
A deflection.
But the damage was already done.
Something between them shifted — invisible but undeniable.
A silent weight dropped into the room, invisible to anyone but them.
Aria held his gaze for a moment longer than she should have — searching, testing — before she turned away, lifting her glass once more.
The fire crackled behind her like a heartbeat she couldn't quiet.
Noel pushed off from the desk, gathering the forgotten file.
He moved to the door, his steps easy, unhurried.
Just before he crossed the threshold, he paused.
Didn't look back.
But his voice found her through the heavy air.
"If you ever need someone who doesn't want anything from you…"
A breath.
A hesitation.
"I'm still here."
Then he was gone, the door clicking softly closed behind him.
Aria stood there for a long time, glass cooling between her palms.
The fire's warmth barely touched her.
Slowly, she flexed her hand, feeling the ghost of her own thumb moving across her palm.
The familiar ache of memory.
The terrifying question that came with it.
Am I really alone in this second life?
Or had someone else found their way back too?