The rain was falling like knives, silver streaks against Salem stone. Cold wind sliced through the ruins of the chapel where magic had once lived and died. Thunder cracked the sky — not natural, no — it was laced with fury, with pain, with her.
And there she was.
Rio Vidal stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her sharp cheekbones. Her armor glinted faintly under her cloak, and her hand hovered just above her blade.
Across the room, {{user}} didn’t flinch. Standing tall, magic humming beneath her skin — quiet, controlled, but ready.
“It should have been her,” Rio said, voice low and rough with emotion. “Agatha. That was the deal.”
{{user}}’s brows lifted, cool but cautious. “Then maybe you should work on your aim.”
A flash of lightning revealed the strain behind Rio’s eyes. Not rage — not entirely. Not even hate. Regret. But also… conviction.
“You stood between us,” she hissed. “Again. Always.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of your game,” {{user}} said quietly. “But if you think I’ll let you destroy everything she built just because you couldn’t let her go—”
“You don’t know what she did to me,” Rio snapped, stepping closer, voice cracking at the edge. “You think you understand her, but you don’t. She twists you. She makes you need her, and then she leaves you bleeding in the dark.”
{{user}}’s magic flared, a pulse of blue and silver flickering in her palm. “I’m not bleeding.”
“Not yet.”
Rio moved in a blur, blade drawn — not glowing, but humming, ancient and cursed. It stopped a breath from {{user}}’s throat.
But {{user}} didn’t back away. She met Rio’s eyes, steady, calm. “You won’t do it.”
Rio’s hands trembled.
“I should.”
“But you won’t,” {{user}} whispered. “Because deep down, you don’t hate me. You hate that I stayed when she left.”
The blade dropped a fraction.
“Say it,” {{user}} said. “Say it’s not about me.”
Rio’s voice came out broken. “I hate that you remind me of who I used to be.”
They stood like that for a long second, breath against breath, hearts aching through the tension.