Chapter 353: The Weeknd night 8

Kiara. She was looking straight at him.

For a second neither of them moved. The space between the roofs felt narrower than the actual distance.

The breeze continued, lifting strands of her long black hair and pushing them across her cheek.

She did not brush them away.

Her posture stayed still, the full curves of her body outlined clearly against the darker shape of the wall behind her.

Lor felt something shift under his ribs, a dull low ache.

It was not the sharp pull of the old bond. That was gone.

This was quieter and heavier.

Kiara had been his first love.

The first person who had looked at him like he was more than the quiet boy at the back of the class.

The first person he had trusted with the parts of himself he usually kept locked down.

And then the marking. The lies. The slow realization that she had been using him for power.

He should have been angry.

Tonight the anger would not rise the way it used to.

Maybe it was the release in Kuri still sitting in his body from earlier.

Maybe it was simply that he had already spent the worst of the rage in the days after they separated.

Whatever the reason, what remained was a tired, open space. He wanted something to happen. He wanted to hear her voice. He had not heard it in a while.

Across the gap, Kiara remained still for the same stretch of time. Her long black hair lifted and settled in the breeze.

The moonlight caught the tired lines of her face and the full, familiar shape of her body.

When she finally moved, it was only one step forward along the low wall.

Lor matched it without thinking.

She jumped.

The distance between her roof and the next was not wide. She landed cleanly, boots finding the tiles, knees bending to take the impact. Her tall frame straightened again.

Long black hair swung once across her back.

Lor jumped the matching gap on his side. The tiles under his boots were still faintly damp. He caught his balance and looked up.

One roof remained between them.

Kiara hesitated there longer than before.

Her blue eyes stayed on him across the final stretch of open air.

Then she moved, jumping to the next roof.

Lor closed the last of the distance with a jump of his own.

They stood on the same roof now, close enough that the breeze carried the same air between them.

For a moment neither closed the remaining space.

Then, slowly, they did.

They met near the center of the shallow slope, the moon high above them, the quiet street far below.

Kiara looked tired.

Dirt marked the side of one sleeve and the knee of her dark pants.

A thin scratch sat along the edge of her jaw.

Even so, the moonlight did something clear and unfair to her face.

The long black hair, the sharp blue eyes, the full line of her chest and the long stretch of her legs—she was still beautiful in the exact way that had first undone him.

She smelled like wet soil and night air.

Kiara spoke first.

"Lor."

Her voice was lower than he remembered, worn at the edges.

"How are you?"

"I’m fine Kiara," he said. The words came out steady. "How are you doing?"

She let out a short, exhausted laugh and spread her arms, showing him the state of her clothes.

Dirt. A torn edge near the cuff. The dark fabric still marked from whatever alley or rooftop she had used earlier in the night.

She was taller than him.

The difference had always felt small, but standing this close it was clear again.

"This is how I’m doing."

Lor’s mouth moved before the rest of him caught up.

"You’re beautiful."

The words hung in the cool air between them.

Kiara’s eyes widened a fraction.

Surprise crossed her face cleanly, as if she had braced for anger and received something else entirely.

For a second she only looked at him. Then the corner of her mouth shifted.

"Thank you," she said. The tiredness in her voice softened around the edges. "You look handsome too."

Heat touched the back of Lor’s neck. He felt the faint warmth of a blush and did not bother hiding it.

The exchange felt strangely ordinary, like something that could have happened months ago before everything cracked.

Kiara watched his face for another beat.

"Are you still angry at me?"

Lor considered the question the way it deserved.

"I don’t know," he said.

She nodded once, as if that answer was acceptable.

"That’s fine. As long as you don’t hate me."

Silence settled again. It was not empty. It simply had nothing immediate to fill it.

The breeze moved across the tiles.

Somewhere farther down the lane a shutter tapped once against its frame and went still.

Lor was the one who broke it.

"What are you doing up here?"

Kiara’s gaze drifted past him for a moment, toward the darker stretch of rooftops beyond, then came back.

"I’m in a dilemma."

"What kind?"

She drew a slow breath.

"Silvia and I have been chased for the past few days. A new expert tracker. One of the ones the court uses for witches. Tonight I followed him to try and end it. I got close enough to see his face when he reached a door." She paused. "It was your father Lor."

Lor nodded.

Kiara studied that small movement. Understanding landed in her expression a second later.

"So you already knew."

"Yes."

She let out another dry, short laugh and shook her head once.

"Of course."

"What are you going to do now?" Lor asked.

Kiara shrugged. The motion was loose and tired.

"I don’t know."

"My father is strong."

"I know."

She looked down at her own boots on the tiles.

Something sad and private moved through her face.

She did not tell him how close she had come tonight to kill him, or how the decision not to strike had sat in her hands like a live weight.

The omission stayed in the space between them without needing to be named.

Lor watched her for a moment.

"So. About my dad. Are you going to kill him?"