The rooftop was empty — just the sky, the wind, and two souls carrying storms.
Sera stood with her back to the city, eyes on the edge. Like she was deciding whether to fall… or fly.
She heard him before she saw him.
Heavy steps. Controlled. Cold.
Kairo.
She didn't turn. "Took you long enough."
He stopped a few feet behind her. "You knew."
"About what?" she asked, too smooth.
"Don't." His voice cracked like lightning. "Don't play innocent now."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "There's no innocence left between us, Kairo."
He held up the contract — folded, torn at the edges, stained with whatever rage he'd spilled when he read it.
> "This isn't just a game anymore. You and I… we're written into each other. Like ink we can't wash out."
She turned then. Slowly. Beautifully dangerous.
"Did you think I wanted this?" she asked, voice sharp. "You think I want to be tied to a name that's been clawing at mine since before I could read?"
"You should've told me," he snapped.
"And you would've done what? Called off your bloodline?" she laughed bitterly. "We're both just pieces, Kairo. Yours is just cut in a sharper suit."
Silence.
Then:
> "It didn't feel fake," he said, quieter now. "The moments. The looks. What you said that night…"
"That night doesn't matter," she interrupted, stepping closer. "You may want me now, but your last name already owns me. That changes everything."
"No," he said firmly. "It means everything's finally clear."
He tossed the contract over the rooftop's edge.
Sera's breath caught. "What are you doing?"
"Starting over."
"You can't rewrite blood."
"No," Kairo said, eyes fierce. "But I can decide who I bleed for."
And in that breathless moment between war and surrender, she didn't know whether to slap him, or kiss him, or run.
So she did what only Sera Velasquez could:
She smirked. "Then you better be ready to bleed hard, De Lèon ."