The attack happened on a Tuesday morning while Seraphina argued with a bakery owner about croissant pricing.

“In what universe,” she demanded, holding up the paper bag accusingly, “does one pastry cost this much after surviving apocalypse-level economic collapse?”

The old man behind the counter looked unimpressed.

“In the universe where butter still exists.”

Fair.

Lucien stood beside her carrying coffee while watching the argument with the exhausted patience of someone realizing immortality apparently included witnessing unnecessary public debates about baked goods.

“You’re terrifying civilians over breakfast again,” he observed.

“I’m negotiating.”

“You threatened inflation personally.”

“The pricing structure insulted me emotionally.”

The bakery owner pointed toward the door.

“Take your expensive vampire husband and leave.”

Seraphina nearly choked.

Lucien looked genuinely startled.

“We’re not married.”

The old man squinted at both of them.

“That sounds like your own problem.”

God.

Prague civilians had become aggressively fearless lately.

Probably unhealthy honestly.

They stepped back onto the damp morning street carrying coffee and overpriced pastries while the city moved lazily around them beneath soft gray skies.

Construction crews worked near the tram lines two blocks over. Someone played violin badly near the bridge entrance. A group of former sanctuary volunteers argued loudly about supply routes while unloading medical crates from a truck.

Normal.

The word still felt fragile sometimes.

Seraphina walked beside Lucien with one hand tucked into her coat pocket and the other holding coffee she technically didn’t need but still liked for the warmth.

“You know,” she said, “I think the bakery owner likes you more than me.”

Lucien glanced sideways.

“He called me expensive.”

“That was basically flirting in Czech.”

A faint smile tugged briefly at his mouth.

Good.

The bond between them stayed calm this morning. Quiet. Comfortable.

Then suddenly—

wrong.

Seraphina stopped walking instantly.

Lucien noticed before she spoke.

The shift in his posture happened immediately. Relaxed one second. Alert the next.

“What is it?”

She turned slowly toward the alley beside the pharmacy across the street.

Three heartbeats.

Human.

Too steady.

Too controlled.

God.

No.

The smell hit a second later.

Holy oil.

Silver.

Church incense.

Old Order weapons.

Lucien’s expression darkened instantly.

“Seraphina.”

“I know.”

The world slowed quietly around them.

Not dramatic.

Just precise.

People continued moving through the street unaware while Seraphina’s instincts locked painfully into place for the first time in months.

Hunter instincts.

Not gone after all.

The hidden Church faction emerged from the alley seconds later.

Five of them.

Black tactical coats instead of traditional robes. Modern weapons mixed with old relic technology strapped visibly across their bodies.

Not official Order soldiers anymore.

Fanatics.

The kind surviving after institutions collapsed because hatred gave them structure.

The woman leading them looked maybe forty with silver-thread scars crossing one side of her face.

Her gaze fixed immediately on Lucien.

Pure hatred.

God.

Seraphina recognized that expression.

She used wearing it herself once.

“Abomination,” the woman said quietly.

Pedestrians nearby finally noticed the tension and began backing away uncertainly.

Lucien moved half a step forward automatically.

Protective instinct.

Seraphina grabbed his wrist immediately.

No.

The woman noticed that too.

Disgust twisted across her face.

“You stand beside it willingly now.”

Seraphina’s stomach tightened.

Not because the accusation hurt.

Because part of her still remembered exactly how easy believing this kind of hatred felt.

The faction leader reached slowly into her coat.

Lucien’s shadows stirred instantly around the edges of the street.

People screamed nearby and started running.

“No sudden movements,” Seraphina warned sharply.

The woman smiled bitterly.

“Look what they turned you into.”

God.

There it was.

Not grief.

Not justice.

Just the old poisonous certainty that suffering became righteous if directed at the correct target.

Lucien stayed completely still beside Seraphina despite the tension vibrating visibly through him now.

She felt it through the bond.

Not fear for himself.

Fear for her.

Always her first.

“You should leave,” he said evenly toward the hunters.

The woman laughed once under her breath.

“We buried children after the Gate collapse.”

“So did we,” Seraphina snapped immediately.

Silence hit hard after that.

Because yes.

Everyone lost people.

That was the tragedy.

Not ownership over grief.

The woman’s expression hardened further.

“You defend monsters now.”

Seraphina looked directly at her.

“No,” she answered quietly. “I defend people.”

The hunters moved simultaneously after that.

Too fast for civilians noticing.

Not fast enough.

The woman ripped a sanctified relic grenade from her coat while another hunter raised a silver-loaded rifle directly toward Lucien’s chest.

No.

Seraphina reacted before thought caught up.

One second she stood beside him.

The next she slammed directly into Lucien hard enough knocking both of them sideways across wet pavement as the rifle discharged.

Silver shattered through the pharmacy window behind them.

People screamed.

Lucien hit the ground beneath her with a shocked curse while the relic grenade exploded nearby in violent white light.

Pain ripped across Seraphina’s shoulder instantly.

Not deep.

Still enough.

God.

Lucien saw the blood immediately.

Everything about him changed.

The shadows around the street surged violently upward while something ancient flashed suddenly through his expression.

Not rage exactly.

Terror.

Because she bled protecting him.

No.

“Lucien.”

His name came out sharp enough cutting through the chaos.

He froze.

Barely.

The hidden Church faction looked almost triumphant seeing the reaction.

There it was.

Their real goal.

Not killing him.

Provoking the monster publicly.

The faction leader smiled through bloodlust and righteousness.

“See?” she shouted toward nearby civilians. “This is what it truly is.”

Lucien’s breathing had gone uneven now.

Seraphina felt the corruption scars inside him stirring beneath panic and protective instinct.

No no no.

She grabbed his face hard with both hands forcing his attention onto her instead of the hunters.

“Look at me.”

The street around them blurred through screams and fleeing civilians and shattered glass.

Lucien’s eyes locked onto hers immediately.

“There you are,” she whispered.

The old phrase.

Grounding.

Home.

His shadows stilled slightly around the edges.

Good.

The hidden faction leader raised another weapon.

Seraphina moved before Lucien could.

She stood directly between him and the hunters.

Immortal now.

Unafraid.

The rain soaked slowly through her coat while blood slid warm down her shoulder.

“You want someone to blame?” she said quietly. “Blame the people who taught children hatred was holiness.”

The hunters hesitated.

Just briefly.

Long enough seeing it clearly now:

She wasn’t being controlled.

Wasn’t corrupted.

Wasn’t trapped beside him.

She chose him.

God.

That frightened them more than monsters ever could.

Sirens echoed faintly through the streets now. Alliance patrols approaching fast.

The faction leader realized it too.

Her expression twisted with furious disappointment.

“This peace will fail,” she spat. “People like him always destroy everything eventually.”

Seraphina looked back once toward Lucien standing behind her in the rain.

Then answered without hesitation.

“Maybe.” She turned back toward the hunters calmly. “But hatred already tried saving the world once. Look how that ended.”

The silence afterward felt heavy.

Final somehow.

The hidden faction retreated seconds later, disappearing through side streets before patrol units reached the district.

Cowards.

Or survivors.

Sometimes difficult telling the difference.

The street slowly quieted afterward beneath cold rain and broken glass.

Lucien stared at the blood soaking through Seraphina’s shoulder with terrifying stillness.

“It barely hit me,” she said immediately.

“You jumped in front of silver.”

“You literally exploded a cathedral for me.”

“That is not comparable.”

“It absolutely is.”

God.

The panic inside him still shook hard beneath the surface.

Seraphina stepped closer carefully afterward and rested one hand lightly against his chest.

“I’m okay.”

Lucien closed his eyes briefly.

Then finally—

very slowly—

he covered her hand with his own like reassuring himself she was physically still there.