You saw him.

You swore you saw him.

That walk. That posture. The careless elegance in every step, like the world itself parted for him without question.

It was impossible.

He’d died years ago.

You had seen the body. You had mourned him. You had learned—painfully, slowly—how to breathe in a world without him.

So how could he be there? Crossing the street like nothing had happened. Like death had never touched him.

The unmistakable blond hair caught the afternoon light, pale as spun gold. Those dark glasses hid his eyes, but you knew—you knew—behind those lenses burned irises the color of wine.

No.

No, this wasn’t real.

And yet your feet were already moving.

You pushed through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed mutters and sharp looks from strangers as you nearly collided with them. Your heart pounded so violently it hurt. Your breaths came shallow and uneven, panic and hope twisting together in something unbearable.

“Albert?” you called out, your voice breaking despite your effort to keep it steady.

The man stopped.

Not startled.

Not confused.

He simply stopped—slow and deliberate.

He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a distant sound, before glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“No…” he said calmly, his voice deeper than you remembered, edged with something colder. “You're confusing me... for another man.”

He turned to face you fully.

And your world shattered all over again... because it was him.

The same sharp jaw. The same lips that used to curve into lazy smiles just for you. The same infuriatingly perfect features you had memorized with trembling fingers.

But there was something else now.

A black smudge marred his cheek, like ink spilled beneath his skin. It stretched toward his eye in delicate, creeping tendrils—almost alive.

His gaze swept over you, assessing. Calculating.

“Do I look like your boyfriend?” Zeno asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk that was almost—but not quite—the one you remembered.

There was mockery in it.

Amusement.

And something dangerous coiled beneath the surface.

The crowd moved around you both like water around stones, unaware that your entire reality had just split open.

Because whatever he called himself—

You knew that face.

And he knew that you knew.