Lena’s POV
I barely made it out of the diner before my knees gave out.
The second my feet hit the pavement, my hands found the cold brick wall of the alley beside the building, steadying myself as my breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.
He found me.
Five years of hiding of building a quiet life, gone in a single moment.
I had spent so long convincing myself he was dead, that I had buried that night with the ashes of Ravenshade Manor.
But he wasn’t dead.
And he wasn’t leaving me alone.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my thoughts into order. I needed to think. I needed a plan.
Run.
The word pounded in my skull like a drumbeat, but I knew—really knew—running wouldn’t do a damn thing. If Ezekiel Donahue had tracked me down after five years, he wasn’t letting me slip away again.
And then I felt him.
That presence, heavy in the air. That weight pressing down on me.
I didn’t have to turn around to know he was there.
“You run again, and I will chase you.”
His voice was smooth, calm—too calm. It made the hair on my arms stand on end.
Slowly, I turned.
He was leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, watching me like he already owned me. Like he had always known this moment would come.
Like he had been waiting for it.
I lifted my chin. “You don’t scare me.”
A lie.
His smirk deepened.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I forced my arms to stay at my sides, my fingers to stop twitching. “It’s been five years, Zeke. Maybe I just don’t like ghosts sneaking up on me.”
His eyes darkened at the name, something unreadable flickering in them. “Ghosts don’t sneak up, Lena. They haunt.”
I swallowed hard.
This wasn’t the same boy I had dragged from the fire all those years ago.
This was a man who had survived. Who had clawed his way back from hell and built something darker. Stronger.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “But I have nothing to say to you.”
He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
He let the silence stretch between us, waiting for me to crack.
I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
Zeke pushed off the wall, closing the space between us.
I stood my ground, even as his scent—something sharp and clean, laced with whiskey and power—wrapped around me.
“I spent five years looking for you,” he said, voice low. “Five. Years.”
I held his gaze. “I didn’t ask you to.”
His jaw flexed, but his smirk remained. “That’s the thing, Lena. You didn’t have to.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for me. Like he was holding back.
I didn’t know if that made me more afraid—or less.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
His eyes searched mine, and for a second—just a second—I saw something raw beneath the surface.
But then it was gone.
And the man standing in front of me wasn’t someone who had ever been saved.
He was someone who had come back from the dead looking for justice.
“I want answers.” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “And you’re going to give them to me.”
I forced a bitter laugh. “Yeah? What makes you think I know anything?”
Zeke leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.
“Because, Lena…” His lips barely moved, his words slipping over my skin like a promise. “I know I’m not the only one who’s been looking for you.”
My stomach dropped.
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
He saw it. He felt it. His smirk returned, slow and dangerous. “There it is.”
I took a shaky step back, needing distance, needing air.
He let me go, but his gaze never wavered. I wanted to deny it. To lie. But I knew better.
Because Ezekiel Donahue never asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to.
Zeke steps even closer, his voice dropping lower. “Who else is looking for you, Lena?”