They found the rooftop by accident.

Or maybe desperation naturally drove people upward when the world below became unbearable.

The cathedral war continued raging beneath Prague while the Crimson Gate poisoned the sky red above the city, but for roughly forty-three stolen minutes, Seraphina and Lucien disappeared from the reactor chamber entirely.

Cassian yelled something furious over comms when they vanished.

Neither answered.

The rooftop belonged to an old astronomical tower connected to Saint Vitus through narrow stone staircases half-collapsed from the fighting below.

Snow drifted softly across the ancient rooftop now.

Red light from the Gate painted the city in strange bleeding shadows while distant explosions rolled through Prague like thunderstorms refusing to move on.

The world looked apocalyptic.

Beautiful anyway.

Seraphina sat on the edge of the tower ledge wrapped in Lucien’s coat because sometime during the climb he quietly removed it and settled it around her shoulders without interrupting her silence.

Typical.

Even during emotional collapse, the man still noticed when she was cold.

Lucien stood nearby looking out across the burning city.

One hand rested lightly against the stone railing while snow collected slowly in his dark hair.

The corruption spread farther tonight.

Seraphina could see it even from here.

Black veins disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

His breathing uneven whenever he forgot hiding it briefly.

God.

The realization hit differently now.

Not abstract anymore.

Not future tense.

Lucien was dying while standing beside her beneath the end of the world.

And somehow he still looked more worried about her than himself.

The unfairness of that nearly made her furious again.

“You know,” she said quietly after a long silence, “this is objectively the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

Lucien looked sideways toward her.

A faint tired smile appeared.

“That’s disappointing. I was aiming for memorable.”

“It’s memorable in the way shipwrecks are memorable.”

“Hm.” He considered that seriously. “Strong atmospheric presence. Emotional devastation. Historically significant.”

Despite everything, Seraphina laughed.

Small sound.

Still enough making something inside Lucien visibly soften.

God.

She loved him so much it physically hurt now.

The silence afterward felt different from earlier.

Not avoidance.

Exhaustion finally becoming honest.

Lucien crossed the rooftop slowly before sitting beside her on the frozen stone ledge overlooking Prague.

Not too close initially.

Still giving her space even now.

Seraphina hated that too.

So she closed the distance herself.

Lucien exhaled quietly the moment her shoulder touched his.

Tiny thing.

Still devastating.

Below them, the city burned.

Above them, the Gate pulsed wider against the crimson sky.

And somehow between those two catastrophes—

they found a moment almost resembling peace.

Lucien tilted his head slightly upward afterward watching snow drift through red light.

“When I was human,” he said quietly, “I thought immortality would make fear smaller.”

Seraphina looked toward him.

Lucien’s gaze remained fixed on the sky.

“I thought eventually you’d stop caring enough for loss to matter.”

His voice sounded distant now.

Not detached.

Remembering.

“But?”

Lucien smiled faintly without humor.

“But grief scales remarkably well across centuries.”

The honesty of it settled heavily between them.

Seraphina tucked her hands deeper into his coat sleeves against the cold.

“What were you before all this?”

Lucien glanced toward her briefly.

“You mean before becoming a terrifying blood monster?”

“You are occasionally a terrifying blood monster.”

“Fair.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly again.

God.

She wanted to freeze every tiny expression now.

Store them somewhere death couldn’t reach.

Lucien leaned back lightly against the rooftop stone behind them.

“I was a physician.”

Seraphina blinked.

“You actually liked healing people.”

“I was alarmingly enthusiastic about it.”

“That explains the control issues.”

Lucien laughed softly under his breath.

Actual laughter this time.

Warm enough making her chest ache.

“I thought medicine could out-negotiate mortality.”

The sentence sounded painfully human.

Seraphina studied his face quietly.

It was strange sometimes remembering Lucien had once belonged entirely to ordinary life.

A man with cold hands and long nights and impossible hopes.

Not myth.

Not monster.

Just someone who wanted people staying alive a little longer.

“You would’ve hated modern healthcare systems,” she murmured.

Lucien looked offended immediately.

“I already hate them conceptually.”

“That’s fair honestly.”

The rooftop wind shifted colder around them.

Somewhere far below, another explosion shook the cathedral district.

Neither moved.

Neither wanted returning downstairs yet.

Because once they did—

the choice waited.

God.

Seraphina stared out across Prague silently for several minutes before finally asking the question sitting like broken glass inside her chest.

“If things were different…” Her voice tightened slightly. “What would we have been?”

Lucien looked at her then.

Fully.

No distance left in him anymore.

The expression on his face nearly undid her.

Not fantasy.

Not impossible romance.

Grief for futures he already knew they probably wouldn’t reach.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you would’ve complained about my insomnia constantly.”

Seraphina laughed weakly.

“Correct.”

“And you’d leave books everywhere.”

“I already do that.”

“You absolutely do.”

His voice softened further.

“I would’ve pretended finding them annoying while secretly memorizing which pages you folded corners into.”

God.

Her throat hurt.

Lucien looked back toward the burning city afterward.

“We’d argue about insignificant things.”

“Like what?”

“You’d insist coffee counts as breakfast.”

“It absolutely does.”

“It objectively doesn’t.”

“It contains emotional nutrients.”

A faint smile crossed Lucien’s face again.

Then quieter:

“You would’ve survived me becoming ordinary.”

The sentence landed hard enough she stopped breathing briefly.

Because there it was.

The future he actually wanted.

Not immortality.

Not power.

Ordinary life beside her.

God.

Seraphina turned toward him fully now.

“And you?” she whispered. “Would you have survived me growing old?”

Lucien went very still afterward.

Snow drifted silently around them while the sky bled red overhead.

Finally he answered honestly.

“No.”

The simplicity of it broke her heart completely.

Lucien looked down briefly at his hands.

“At least not gracefully.”

Seraphina stared at him through burning eyes.

“You say things like that and still expect me choosing humanity over you feeling noble somehow.”

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Pain crossed his face again.

Not defensive pain.

Helplessness.

Because there was no correct answer anymore.

Only damage measured differently.

The rooftop fell quiet after that.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

Too much emotion crowded between them now for constant words surviving intact.

Eventually Seraphina shifted closer until she rested against him completely.

Lucien wrapped one arm around her automatically.

Carefully.

Like holding her still felt sacred despite everything collapsing around them.

God.

His body felt colder lately.

The corruption.

No.

Seraphina buried her face against his shoulder suddenly because if she looked at him too long right now she might completely fall apart.

Lucien immediately tightened his hold slightly.

“What is it?”

The gentleness in his voice ruined her.

Completely ruined her.

Because even now—

even with prophecy and apocalypse and death waiting downstairs—

he still sounded more concerned about her sadness than his own survival.

Seraphina started crying before answering.

Not dramatic sobbing.

Just exhausted grief finally spilling out quietly into the fabric of his shirt.

Lucien said nothing afterward.

Didn’t offer philosophy.

Didn’t try fixing it.

He simply held her there beneath the red sky while snow fell softly across ruined Prague and the future became something neither of them could bear naming out loud anymore.