Chapter 7: Echoes of Us
1200 Words
The Obsidian Tower felt different that night.
Elena noticed it the moment she stepped out of the private lift. Usually, the place hummed with the faint undercurrent of Valkor’s constant vigilance—security drones buzzing in the rafters, biometric scans whispering over the air, the sterile rhythm of a machine-ruled empire. But tonight, there was only silence. A silence too deliberate, too heavy, as if the tower itself was holding its breath.
She walked slowly down the corridor leading to their penthouse suite. Her hand brushed against the cool glass wall, looking down at the vast expanse of New Lux below. The city sparkled like a manufactured constellation, too perfect to be natural, too controlled to be alive.
Her pulse quickened when the door to their quarters slid open.
Inside, the air was warm with a fragrance she had almost forgotten: crushed night jasmine with a faint hint of star oil. Damian used to have it piped through their chambers when they first married, knowing how the scent calmed her. It hadn’t been used in months.
“Damian?”
Her voice barely carried.
He stood by the low dining table, setting down two crystal wineglasses. The table was already laid—a meal for two, the kind she’d stopped expecting long ago. Roasted fennel and citrus-glazed fish, steaming gently. And beside them, a rare bottle of Solari wine, glowing faintly gold under the lights. Her favourite.
“You’re late,” he said, his tone soft, almost teasing.
Elena blinked, uncertain. “I didn’t realise we had plans.”
“We didn’t,” he admitted, moving around to pour the wine. His movements were fluid, elegant, calculated to look casual. “I thought it was time we made some.”
Her heart tightened. Part of her wanted to demand why—why now, why after weeks of distance, after she had found evidence of his betrayal in a locked vault. Another part wanted to believe, to grasp at the warmth he was suddenly offering.
“Sit,” Damian said gently, gesturing to the seat across from him. “You’ve had a long day.”
Elena lowered herself into the chair cautiously. The flickering candles reflected in his steel-grey eyes, softening them. For a moment, she saw not the calculating leader of Valkor Dominion but the man who had once shared stolen bread with her in a crumbling bunker, whispering dreams of building something greater.
“You cooked this?” she asked lightly, testing.
He gave a faint smile. “If I said yes, would you believe me?”
“Not for a second.”
He chuckled—a sound she hadn’t heard in weeks. It sent an ache through her chest. She lifted her glass and swirled the wine.
“You don’t usually do surprises,” she said.
“Maybe I should,” he replied, watching her closely. “We’ve been… distant. I don’t want to lose what we built.”
Her breath caught. The sincerity in his tone was so well-crafted it was almost convincing.
“What we built,” she repeated softly, “or what you’re trying to keep?”
For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Calculation? Then it was gone, replaced with warmth. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers against hers.
“Elena, I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been consumed by Valkor, by the weight of it. But I don’t want to forget us.”
Her throat tightened. This was what she had wanted for months—for him to see her again. To not just treat her as a commander, a weapon, or a figurehead, but as the woman he once promised a life to.
She let his hand linger over hers.
“Do you ever think,” she asked quietly, “about what life would have been like without Valkor? Just you and me?”
“Poor,” he said, with a small laugh. “Probably starving. And definitely bored.”
Despite herself, she smiled faintly. “That’s such a Damian answer.”
“Because it’s true. But,” he added more softly, “I wouldn’t trade us for anything.”
The words warmed her—and unsettled her all at once.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur. She tasted the wine, the fish, but barely noticed the flavours. What she noticed was the way his eyes stayed on her, softer than they had been in years. The way his voice lowered when he spoke, intimate, familiar. The way he leaned closer, as though he wanted to bridge a gap he himself had created.
And when the plates were cleared and the lights dimmed further, he stood and extended his hand.
“Come,” he murmured.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. She hesitated only a second before placing her hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, pulling her into his orbit the way he always had.
They moved into their chamber, and when he kissed her, she didn’t resist.
The kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to remind her of everything they had once shared. It was almost perfect—too perfect. As his hands slid across her back, as their bodies pressed together, Elena let herself drown in the memory of the man she had once loved. The man who had whispered promises of forever when the world around them was crumbling.
For a while, it felt real.
Later, they lay together in the afterglow, his arm draped over her waist, his breathing calm and even. She stared up at the ceiling, the faint glow of the sensors casting pale shadows.
“You were different tonight,” she whispered.
“Maybe I remembered who we are,” he said, his lips brushing her hair.
She turned slightly, studying him in the dim light. He looked peaceful, content. As if nothing stood between them. But beneath the stillness, she sensed it—the faint rigidity in his posture, the way his gaze flicked once to the door before closing. The hesitation in his kiss, as though waiting for her to falter.
This wasn’t the return of the man she loved.
It was a performance.
She stayed in his arms until his breathing deepened. When she was certain he had slipped into sleep—or the careful mimicry of it—she slid gently from the bed, wrapping a robe around her shoulders.
Moving silently across the floor, she activated the mirror interface. Her reflection stared back: hair mussed, skin flushed, eyes sharp with clarity. She opened her encrypted terminal.
Her tracking query from the day before had returned. Three names. Two safehouses. One payment channel. And at the end of the chain: Damian Rourke.
Her hands tightened around the console.
With steady fingers, she composed a coded message:
Activate Phase One. Eyes on Vault 9 and Omega Chain. Do not engage. Monitor only. Await confirmation.
For a long moment, she hovered over the send key.
Behind her, Damian shifted slightly in his sleep. She glanced back once, her expression unreadable.
“For what it’s worth,” she whispered, “I miss you too.”
Then she sent the message.
And the illusion shattered.
- Writer
