They say time dulls memory.
But every time I see her-Scarlet-mine only sharpens.
It started that night on the rooftop.
The storm had rolled in fast. Thunder boiling above Silverthorne University, rain slashing down like the sky was at war with itself. I'd gone up there to escape myself-my blood, my name, the shadow of a father I no longer claimed. The storm felt honest, violent in a way that mirrored the chaos building inside me.
But she was already there.
Scarlet Everen.
She stood near the ledge, her arms braced against the metal rail, staring down into the dark campus like she belonged to the night itself. Wind swept strands of her hair into the air, catching the flash of lightning as if it crowned her. There was a moment-one breathless, eternal second-where I forgot what I was supposed to be. The professor. The protector. The man with secrets. I was just a boy again, looking at a girl who used to be everything.
She didn't know who I was. Not truly. But my blood recognized hers instantly.
Her aura shimmered around her like violet heat, pulsing beneath her skin. She stood against the wind like she could command the sky itself. That fire in her eyes... it wasn't just power. It was memory-buried deep in both of us, trying to claw its way out.
I should've walked away.
Instead, I stepped closer.
And when she turned toward me, her eyes locking on mine through the rain-I swear the world split open.
I remembered her laughter first.
Not from Thornhollow. From before. From a garden surrounded by white stone and golden light, where she used to run barefoot through the grass, wildflowers tangled in her curls. She'd laugh when I tripped trying to follow her. That laugh had been my favorite sound.
But she didn't remember. Not yet. Not then.
And I didn't dare speak of it.
Because if I did... if I reminded her of what I failed to protect... she might never forgive me.
So I let her think I was just Alec Anders. Literature professor. The mystery behind the eyes. The man she couldn't quite figure out.
And I kept my distance.
At least, I tried.
The weeks that followed only made it harder.
She was everywhere. In the classroom, in my thoughts, in the spaces between sleep and wakefulness. Every Literature class became an exercise in restraint. Scarlet would sit near the front-too close, too bold. She asked the kinds of questions that twisted my stomach into knots, not because they were inappropriate, but because they were layered. Laced with meaning. With challenge. With awareness.
She didn't just listen to words. She dissected them. Tested them on her tongue like spells. And the worst part?
She looked at me like she could see through the mask.
Sometimes she smiled, small and knowing. Sometimes she smirked, as if daring me to lose control.
Gods help me, I wanted to.
She was fire. And I was built to burn.
Then the memories began to stir in her, too.
It was subtle at first-an extra pause when our fingers brushed as I passed back graded essays, a flicker in her gaze when I used her name in full. Scarlet Silverthorne.
And then... her silence.
-------
One afternoon, while the class debated a passage from Wuthering Heights, I noticed Scarlet go still. Her eyes fixed on nothing, her expression frozen mid-thought. She was somewhere else entirely. Her breathing had changed, shallow but steady. I recognized the look in an instant.
It was the past.
Reaching through time.
Pulling her under.
I wanted to rush to her. To break the rules, to cross the aisle and speak her name, real and raw.
But I didn't.
Because if she truly remembered who I was-if she remembered the war, the lake, the night everything fell apart-she would remember my failure, too.
And I wasn't ready to lose her all over again.
So I watched her pull herself back, blinking like she'd surfaced from deep water, her hands trembling slightly in her lap.
After class, she didn't look at me. But I could feel her pulse racing. And I could smell her fear.
Not of me-but of what she was becoming.
But the dam truly broke the night we returned to the lake.
Scarlet had no idea where we were going. Not consciously. But her body remembered. Her steps were sure, her spine straight, her breath steady as we left the car and crossed through the moonlit woods. She didn't speak. Neither did I.
The silence said enough.
The lake was silver in the moonlight-still, waiting. The trees swayed as if bowing to her return.
She stopped at the edge and just stood there, arms folded across her chest, like something was trying to surface but hadn't broken through yet.
Then she looked at me.
And she said my name.
Not Alec.
"Alecai."
My knees nearly buckled.
No one had called me that in thirteen years. No one even remembered. Except her. Except Scarlet. My Starling.
My chest tightened so painfully I thought I might shift right then and there.
She remembered.
Maybe not everything. Maybe not yet. But that name-my name-was buried so deep, only someone who had once whispered it in the dark could have found it.
And gods, she had. She'd found me.
I didn't mean to kiss her. Not like that. Not so soon.
But it wasn't just longing. It was recognition. A tether snapping taut. A soul realigning with its match.
She leaned into me like she'd been waiting thirteen years to come home.
And then we kissed.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't slow.
It was desperate. Raw. Like we were trying to breathe life back into the bond fate had once tried to tear apart.
Her lips, her body, the sound of her breath catching-it was all real. All her. Not some blood-compelled illusion. Not some enchantment trick.
And still-I pulled away.
Because I was a coward.
Because I didn't trust myself not to ruin her again.
Because she deserved answers, not half-formed feelings tangled in regret and rebirth.
-------
The next time I saw Scarlet, it wasn't under the moon. It was under fluorescent lights.
The library had been too quiet. Too calm for the storm rolling beneath my skin.
I'd taken the long way around the aisles, pretending to study. Pretending I could stay away from her, even when my soul thrummed every time she was near.
She was sitting near the front, flipping through a book she clearly wasn't reading, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the page. Her leg bounced beneath the table-restless. Uneasy.
Like she could sense the tide shifting too.
Then the doors slammed open.
Reenie stumbled inside, her face pale, lips bloodless, eyes wild with something more than panic-pain. Deep, splitting pain.
Scarlet was on her feet before I even processed what was happening. The book clattered to the floor, forgotten.
We caught Reenie as she collapsed, her body trembling violently between us.
"Help me," Scarlet said, breath tight, voice already glowing with power.
I didn't hesitate.
We brought her to Lucia's bakery. It was late. Quiet. The key Scarlet kept on a simple chain around her neck glinted in the streetlight as she unlocked the back entrance.
Inside, everything smelled like flour and cinnamon and forgotten time.
We laid Reenie on the prep table. Scarlet's hands hovered over her chest. Her brows furrowed in focus. I stepped back, the air thick with power-hers.
Soft violet light pooled at her fingertips.
I felt it before I saw it-Scarlet's magic responding, rippling across her arms like lightning beneath skin.
Her breathing was shaky, but her hands didn't tremble. Not once.
She poured everything into healing Reenie. Every part of herself. Not just magic, but instinct. Will. Love.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Because the girl before me-this woman-wasn't just strong. She was terrifyingly divine.
When the glow faded, Reenie's breathing had stabilized. Her eyelids fluttered. She was asleep, but alive.
Scarlet sagged back against the counter, breath ragged, hair sticking to her temples with sweat.
I caught her before she could slide to the floor. She blinked up at me with glassy, exhausted eyes. But she smiled. Just a little.
And that smile destroyed me.
------
Later, when Reenie was tucked in the back, wrapped in a blanket beside Lucia's old herb chest, Scarlet stayed in the kitchen.
She moved with quiet purpose-barefoot on the worn tile, sleeves pushed up, cheeks still flushed from exhaustion.
Instead of collapsing, she went to the counter, pulled open a small wooden drawer, and retrieved ingredients with the familiarity of someone who'd done this a hundred times. Flour, sugar, cinnamon, and a small jar of honey.
I watched her mix by hand-no magic, no enchantment-just muscle memory. Just care.
"What are you doing?" I asked, voice hoarse.
She didn't look up. "Something my abuela taught me to make when I was little. Honey-cinnamon pan dulces. She says healing magic doesn't mean much without warmth."
In ten minutes, the scent filled the kitchen. Golden, sweet, nostalgic.
She pulled them out-still steaming-and broke one in half, the center soft and gooey.
She brought it to me wordlessly, holding the piece just near my lips.
"Eat," she whispered, voice scratchy from power use, but firm. Her thumb brushed my lower lip.
So I did.
It melted on my tongue-warm, spiced, unreal.
And it nearly broke me.
Because that was Scarlet. Not the tribrid. Not the girl of prophecy. Just the girl I loved-offering me something sweet after saving a life, feeding me like I was the one who needed mending.
-------
I missed her birthday.
Not by accident.
I stood on the outskirts of the lake house party, cloaked by shadows and pine, watching the bonfire flicker and dance across her golden hair. She laughed with her friends. Her smile-the one I used to live for-lit up the whole field.
And then Brett kissed her.
I nearly shifted on instinct, my claws threatening to tear through the earth just to reach her.
But she didn't push him away.
She smiled through it.
And I broke a little.
I had no right. I told myself that again and again. No claim. No title. I wasn't her boyfriend or her protector or even her friend. I was just a man standing in the woods, watching the only girl he ever truly loved move on.
So I turned and walked away.
Because if she was happy-really happy-I didn't want to ruin that.
Even if it ruined me.
-------
Days passed, and I kept my distance. I focused on my classes. On anything that didn't sound like her voice in my head. But she was everywhere. In the smell of autumn on campus. In the chair she sat in during Literature. In every damn song that played on the radio.
And then came the locker room.
I hadn't meant to be there when she walked in. I was getting ready to leave after a meeting with the athletics director, and then there she was-fuming, fierce, and so damn beautiful I forgot how to breathe.
She confronted me. Demanded answers.
And I gave her the one thing I'd tried to bury: vulnerability.
When she kissed me, I felt the world tilt back into place.
Her mouth on mine wasn't desperation. It was homecoming. A lifetime collapsed into a single moment.
And when she whispered my name-Alecai-I knew she remembered.
The boy who held her hand under the stars.
The boy who swore to protect her and failed.
The man who never stopped loving her.
For that moment, I let go. I let her pull me under. I let her see the pieces I'd hidden.
And she kissed them like they weren't broken.
But just as quickly, she pulled away.
Said she had practice.
And walked out like my whole universe hadn't just caught fire.
--------
At the festival, I told myself I wouldn't look for her. I stayed at the edge of the crowd, hidden among the flickering lights and the smell of kettle corn and cider.
But the second I heard her voice on stage, I was done for.
Scarlet Everen didn't just sing. She unraveled the air.
And I stood there, drowning in it.
Then she looked out.
Her eyes found mine through the crowd. Locked. Held.
And I swear, the world went still.
She saw me.
Not just Alec.
Not just her professor.
But the boy by the lake. The one who kissed her in a tree. The one who would burn the world down for her.
I wanted to go to her. I nearly did.
But then Brett stepped close again.
Close enough to steal another moment that wasn't his.
And I froze.
Not from jealousy. From fear.
Because if I took one more step toward her, there'd be no turning back.
And the thing between us-whatever it was-would ignite.
But maybe it already had.
Because as I stood there, lost in the chaos of the crowd and the flame in her voice, I realized something.
The distance I thought would protect her?
It was killing us both.
And I didn't know how much longer I could survive it.