Lucien started wearing gloves two days later.

Black leather.

Always both hands.

Even indoors.

Seraphina noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

Love turned observation into a survival instinct eventually.

The war continued swallowing cities while sanctuary networks collapsed one checkpoint at a time across Eastern Europe.

Prague remained under partial quarantine now.

Or what governments called quarantine when they actually meant abandonment.

The infected spread through underground transit systems too quickly for conventional containment.

Church broadcasts blamed vampires publicly.

Vampire factions blamed Church experimentation.

Human governments started mobilizing military response teams already overwhelmed before deployment even finished.

And somewhere beneath all of it—

Lucien was dying quietly.

Nobody else saw it yet.

That frightened Seraphina more than the infection itself.

Because Lucien had always been terrifyingly good at suffering privately.

The sanctuary headquarters relocated twice within forty-eight hours after the Prague evacuation.

Now they occupied an abandoned thermal resort hidden deep in the Austrian mountains where geothermal generators still provided intermittent electricity and heat.

Temporary safety.

Temporary everything lately.

Seraphina found Lucien near dawn inside the lower archive room reviewing evacuation maps spread across a long wooden table beside cold coffee and untouched blood packs.

He looked exhausted.

Not unusual anymore.

But something else felt wrong now too.

Slower.

Tiny pauses between movements.

Subtle enough most people would miss them entirely.

She didn’t.

Lucien looked up after sensing her enter.

“There you are.”

The warmth inside the sentence still affected her embarrassingly fast.

Seraphina crossed the room quietly before leaning beside the table near him.

“You skipped dinner again.”

Lucien’s gaze dropped back toward the maps.

“I was busy.”

“Lucien.”

“I know.”

The answer came softer that time.

Almost apologetic.

God.

That worried her more.

She studied him carefully while he continued pretending intense interest in supply routes and sanctuary relocations.

“You’re pale.”

Lucien blinked once.

“I’m a vampire.”

“You’re extra pale.”

A faint almost-smile touched his mouth briefly.

Then vanished.

There.

Again.

Something wrong.

Seraphina reached automatically toward his gloved hand resting beside the map table.

Lucien pulled it away too quickly.

The movement froze both of them instantly.

Silence filled the archive room.

Lucien looked toward the opposite wall.

Not defensive.

Cornered.

Seraphina’s stomach tightened.

“Show me.”

“No.”

Not angry.

Worse.

Tired.

She stepped closer slowly.

“Lucien.”

The geothermal pipes hummed softly somewhere inside the walls while snowstorm winds rattled faintly against the resort windows overhead.

Lucien remained motionless for several long seconds afterward.

Then finally removed the glove.

Seraphina stopped breathing.

The corruption spread across nearly half his hand now.

Black veins twisted visibly beneath pale skin while the fingertips darkened unnaturally like frostbite rotting inward.

No.

God no.

Seraphina grabbed his wrist carefully before he could hide it again.

The skin felt colder than usual.

Not vampire-cold.

Dead-cold.

“What the hell is this doing to you?”

Lucien watched her expression instead of the wound.

“Accelerating cellular decay.”

She looked up sharply.

“You’re talking like a medical textbook on purpose right now.”

“It’s easier.”

The honesty hurt immediately.

Seraphina swallowed hard.

“Can it be cured?”

Lucien didn’t answer fast enough.

Fear hit instantly.

“Lucien.”

He looked exhausted suddenly.

Ancient again.

“I don’t know.”

The admission settled heavily between them.

Seraphina tightened her grip around his wrist.

“You said this thing was called Doom.”

Lucien nodded once.

“It was theorized during the plague wars.” His voice stayed quiet. “A corruption strain capable of destroying immortal regenerative systems.”

“Theorized?”

“Aurelia burned the original research before anyone completed it.”

God.

Of course she did.

Because Aurelia understood some things shouldn’t survive discovery.

Seraphina looked again toward the spreading corruption beneath his skin.

“How long?”

Lucien’s gaze drifted downward toward the maps.

Another pause.

Another answer he clearly didn’t want giving.

“We don’t know yet.”

Lie.

Tiny one.

But still a lie.

She knew him too well now.

“You do know.”

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Not avoiding her.

Steadying himself.

“The historical projections estimated several weeks before systemic failure.”

Several weeks.

The sentence hollowed her chest instantly.

No.

No no no.

Outside the archive windows, snowfall continued burying the mountains beneath pale morning light while sanctuary radios crackled distantly through the upper floors.

The world kept moving.

Cruelly normal.

Seraphina let go of his wrist slowly afterward before turning away toward the far shelves because suddenly she couldn’t breathe properly inside the room anymore.

Lucien watched her quietly.

Always quiet when pain entered a space.

“I wasn’t planning to tell you yet.”

That almost made her angry enough to scream.

“Fantastic strategy,” she whispered tightly. “Really emotionally healthy choice.”

Lucien leaned back slightly against the table behind him.

“I needed time.”

“For what?”

The answer came very softly.

“To decide how much of this war survives me.”

The words hit like physical impact.

Seraphina turned toward him immediately.

“You don’t get to talk like that.”

“Seraphina—”

“No.”

Her voice cracked hard enough both of them froze briefly afterward.

God.

Fear tasted awful.

Because suddenly every peaceful moment from the ruined city replayed differently inside her head.

The violin.

The theater.

The way he finally said I love you like it physically hurt him.

Lucien knew.

Maybe not fully.

But enough.

Enough that part of him already started preparing for death quietly while loving her anyway.

The realization devastated her.

Lucien stepped toward her carefully afterward.

Not too quickly.

Never too quickly when emotions became dangerous.

“Hey.”

Seraphina laughed weakly once beneath the panic already building in her throat.

“You don’t get to become mortal immediately after emotionally committing to me. That’s deeply unfair timing.”

Something in Lucien’s expression broke at that.

Not visibly dramatic.

Just pain slipping through control too quickly to hide completely.

“I know.”

God.

She hated how tired he sounded.

Seraphina crossed the room before she could second-guess herself and pressed both hands carefully against his face.

Lucien went still instantly.

Not because of surprise.

Because he leaned into the touch unconsciously afterward.

Tiny movement.

Heartbreaking anyway.

“You’re not dying,” she whispered fiercely.

Lucien looked at her with unbearable softness.

“That sounds hopeful.”

“That sounds like an order.”

A faint breath of something almost resembling laughter escaped him.

Then immediately collapsed into coughing.

Wrong coughing.

Deep.

Violent.

Lucien turned sharply away before she fully processed what happened.

But not fast enough.

Black blood splattered across the stone floor beside the archive shelves.

Silence crashed through the room afterward.

Lucien stared down at the blood.

Seraphina stared at him.

Neither moved.

Then very calmly—

far too calmly—

Lucien wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand before covering the stain on the floor with an old evacuation map.

Like tidying paperwork mattered more than the fact immortality was actively rotting inside him now.

“Lucien.”

He didn’t look at her.

Which terrified her most of all.