Chapter 5: Her, Undone

Elira couldn’t sleep.

She lay on the worn linen of her studio apartment’s bed, city lights bleeding in through the blinds. Her ceiling fan spun a soft rhythm overhead, but her thoughts weren’t following its pace. They were spiraling—backward, forward, inward.

To him.

To Reyden Vale.

And that letter.

She could still feel the weight of the paper in her hand, hear his voice reading that single line aloud.

“Love didn’t wait.”

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the look in his eyes after.

The way they had darkened—no longer sharp with sarcasm, but full of something quieter.

Something almost… sad.

It haunted her more than it should have.

She sat up and padded into the kitchen, barefoot on cold tile, reaching for her sketchbook instead of tea. Her hand hovered above the page.

For the first time in months, she didn’t know what to draw.

Usually, her ideas came in floods — concepts, spatial structures, line and movement like breath.

But tonight, there was only him.

His hand brushing hers.

That infuriating smirk.

The way he looked at the building like he wasn’t sure whether to tear it down or bow to it.

She flipped to a blank page and drew a window.

Not one from any blueprint.

A small, arched frame. Wide enough for two people to look through, side by side. She shaded soft morning light in one corner. A silhouette in the other.

It felt too personal.

She closed the sketchbook and exhaled.

The next morning, she reached the project site early. Before anyone else.

She walked the perimeter alone. The air was sharp, the sky overcast.

Near the entrance to the central building, she saw something new.

Another letter.

Folded. Tucked under the edge of a broken stair. Not aged like the first. No dust. Just waiting.

She knelt, heart suddenly pounding.

Unfolded it.

Same handwriting.

“To the one who rebuilds what I destroyed:

He never stopped looking for you.”Her breath caught.

Not just at the message — but at the implication.

There was a story here.

Someone had loved. Lost.

Returned, maybe too late.

But more than that…

Someone wanted her to find this.

She turned sharply.

And saw Reyden, standing across the lot, watching her.

He didn’t wave.

Didn’t smile.

But he didn’t look away either.

She slipped the letter into her coat pocket and walked toward him, unsure what she’d say.

Her chest was a little too tight. Her thoughts too loud.

But her feet kept moving.

Maybe this was nothing.

Maybe it was just coincidence.

But maybe—just maybe—

Some stories wanted to be rewritten.

And they’d chosen her to start.

The morning air was sharp enough to cut.

Elira’s boots echoed over the pavement as she crossed the lot toward the temporary on-site office — a glass box ValeCorp had installed as a “collaboration zone,” which really just meant a sleek, impersonal space with designer chairs and suspiciously perfect lighting.

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