(Kaelan's POV)

The scent of blood and sweat usually fills the arena the moment I step inside. Adrenaline, hardened ice, the sound of skates scratching against a slick surface-it's all familiar. The rhythm is always the same. Steady. Predictable. Safe.

But tonight was different.

The moment the locker room door opened and I stepped into the hallway leading to the rink, something suddenly hit me. Not roughly. Not sharply. But it pierced slowly, like embers pressed against the back of my neck. A faint scent slipped into my senses. Warm. Wild. Gentle and unfamiliar, and yet... intense.

My body froze for a second because of it, before I forced myself to keep moving.

What is this... Ah... No! That's not possible.

But I knew that scent. My body reacted instantly, just from recognizing it.

For years, I'd never felt a pull like this. Not toward anyone. Not toward anything. And now, it hit me in the middle of a packed, overheated stadium, triggering my instincts before I could stop them.

I tried to ignore it, because the game was about to start. Warm-up time was over, and the coach was already shouting directions from the sidelines. But damn... my focus was wrecked. Tonight, I was playing with pure instinct instead of my usual strategy.

Several times during the match, my eyes would drift toward the stands on their own.

I didn't even know who I was looking for, but my body reacted automatically. Every time that scent came back, I turned my head. Searching. In the middle of the cheering crowd, I caught a glimpse of a woman with dark hair, sitting slightly apart from everyone else. She wasn't cheering. She just sat there quietly, like she was absorbing the atmosphere in a completely different way.

It was only a glance.

But it was enough to throw off my heartbeat completely.

Honestly, tonight's win should've felt satisfying-Elaria Northern Blades finally beat the Victoria Ice Wolves. But instead, my thoughts kept drifting.

Who was she? Who was that woman?

When the match ended and we won, the crowd exploded in cheers. I quickly skated to the side, took off my helmet, and walked down the hallway. Sweat was still running down my temple as I slipped away from the cameras and teammates celebrating behind me.

And the farther I walked... the stronger that scent became.

Until I saw her... at the end of the hall.

She was standing there alone. Her hair down, wearing a simple jacket, and her eyes... locked onto mine. My heart stopped for a split second when she looked back at me. I couldn't even speak. My body moved on its own, like it knew what to do-walking straight toward her and taking her hand.

As we stood just a few steps apart, I knew it was her.

My mate.

But her eyes were blank. No recognition. No pull in return. Just... confusion. And that threw me off.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice lower than usual.

She looked tense, like a deer spotting a wolf but not sure yet whether to run or fight.

But before she could say anything, laughter and loud shouts erupted behind me.

"Kaelan!"

Two of my teammates burst into the hallway. They called me, pulled on my arm, completely ignoring the girl. Either they didn't see her, or they just didn't care about anyone outside our hockey circle.

"Reporters are waiting, bro! Come on before Coach loses it," Tony urged.

I looked at her one last time. Her face was still full of confusion. But there wasn't time to explain. Not enough space to talk. So I let go of her hand.

"I'll find you. So... wait for me," I said quietly before letting myself get dragged away.

But even as my steps carried me out of the stadium, part of me stayed in that hallway-with the blue-eyed girl.

I would find her.

I had to.

***

The post-game interviews were quick. Cameras, microphones, same tired questions I was already sick of answering. The media spotlight never left me alone-they always made me the "Face" of the Elaria Northern Blades.

"How does tonight's big win feel, Kaelan?"

"When will you be ready for the next championship?"

"You're still the season's top scorer-do you feel pressured to keep that up?"

I gave the usual replies. Light smiles, a few nods, a steady voice. Like everything was under control.

But the one thing I really wanted to know... was about the woman I saw in the hallway minutes ago. And now she was gone.

After the interviews and a short celebration with the team, I finally went home. Surrounded by noise, lights, and praise I didn't care about. My mind was still stuck in that hallway-with her empty stare.

And tonight... I needed silence. But not the kind that meant being alone.

***

Callum ended up showing up without being called. He always knew when to show up.

We sat on the balcony of my apartment. The cold bit through the air, but I didn't care. City lights sparkled like stars. The night sky stretched endlessly above us.

He sipped canned coffee and glanced at me.

"You're coming to the charity event at Elaria Gallery tomorrow, right?"

I slowly turned to him. "Yeah."

"Good. Don't bail without notice like last year. The committee almost lost it."

I just nodded. My gaze went back to the sky.

Callum was quiet for a moment, then looked at me a little longer. "You're way too quiet tonight. Even for someone who just won a game, this is... weird."

I dropped my head slightly, avoiding his eyes.

"Nothing's wrong," I said briefly. I still wasn't sure if I should tell him about the woman. Not yet... Not until I was certain.

"Okay," he replied softly, though I knew he didn't believe me.

I didn't explain. And he understood me well enough to not push.

We sat in silence for a long time, the wind weaving through the iron bars of the balcony.

At the very least... I just needed quiet, even though my mind was screaming.

***

The day of the charity event at Elaria Gallery finally arrived. I got there just as the event was starting.

Important guests were arriving in gowns and formal suits. Photographers wandered around, catching flashes of celebrities and public figures. A few reporters recognized me and their cameras automatically followed as I stepped into the main hall.

But I didn't care about the spotlight. My attention was instantly drawn to one thing: a painting at the center of the room, displayed with such exclusivity.

The Moon Painting.

Its frame was huge, the canvas old but strong, and the light shining on it brought out the soft fog and full moon hanging in the emptiness. The painting felt almost alive.

And the longer I stared at it... the scent returned. The same one from last night in the hallway. Only this time, it was stronger. Clearer.

I scanned every corner of the room. My eyes sharpened.

And when I looked west of where I stood... There she was.

That woman.

My mate.

She stood a few meters away from the painting, wearing a dark-colored dress-simple, but elegant. Her hair was loosely tied up. She was speaking to two important guests-probably a curator or collector. Her face calm, her voice soft. Professional.

I stood near the painting, blending in with the crowd. But my eyes never left her.

A few minutes later, she walked toward the Moon Painting with three others. They formed a half circle, and the woman began explaining.

"It's called... the Moon Painting. This piece is unsigned but verified as part of a private collection belonging to an old noble family. It's believed to serve as a bridge between the real world and the subconscious," she said. Her voice was so gentle.

She paused for a moment. Her eyes swept over the crowd.

And the next second, our eyes met.

She looked slightly startled to see me, but quickly looked away. Her voice stayed steady as she continued the explanation.

"If you stand in front of this painting long enough, you'll feel... something you can't quite explain. As if the painting has a pulse of its own."

I stepped closer. My voice low as I said, "I feel like this painting is alive too."

She turned toward me slowly. Her gaze sharp, but controlled.

"You're right, sir," she replied curtly. "If we connect deeply enough with the painting, we might actually feel it come alive."

An older woman beside me nodded. "What an incredible piece. It has... an energy to it, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," she said calmly. "Every pair of eyes sees something different."

I looked at her for a long moment and read the name tag hanging around her neck.

Rhea Hale.

She knew I was watching her. But she stood tall, still guiding her little group like a pro.

Other guests joined in, and a light discussion followed. One man asked about the technique, a woman asked about the paint and age of the canvas. The woman-Rhea-answered them all patiently, even as her eyes occasionally flicked toward me.

And for the first time... I found myself wanting to stay in one place just to hear someone talk.

Not as a hockey player.

But as someone... drawn to her.

And I couldn't understand why she looked like she knew me-yet chose not to remember.

***

(Rhea's POV)

I knew today was going to be a long one, but I didn't expect every second of it to feel this strange.

I tried to shake off my thoughts and quickly went to check the paintings on display before the guests started arriving.

Out of all the pieces exhibited tonight, the Moon Painting always pulled at me the most. But for some reason, when I looked at it tonight, something felt... different.

I only glanced at the canvas as I crossed the hall-but in that brief moment, I saw something. A pair of eyes in the painting shimmered, like they were reflecting actual moonlight.

I froze. My steps halted.

Was I hallucinating?

My eyes scanned the room, hoping someone else had seen it too. The guests were still admiring the painting, but their faces looked normal. They were just smiling, nodding, or chatting about colors and techniques. No one looked surprised. No one seemed to notice what I just saw.

My heart thudded unevenly in my chest.

I forced myself to stay calm as I explained the Moon Painting to the next group. My smile stayed, my voice steady, my steps measured. But underneath all of that, I just wanted to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, that would've looked weird.

I glanced elsewhere among the arriving guests, and there he was... that national hockey player-Kaelan Viero. He was standing there. Still. Blending into the crowd. But the way he looked at me felt piercing. Not because his stare was sharp. But because-somehow-I felt like he was way too close.

More guests arrived and started forming small discussion circles. I guided them toward other parts of the gallery and answered a few technical questions about the restoration methods used on the displayed artworks. But I couldn't shake the Moon Painting out of my head-or the man who had stood near it just minutes ago.

Once I finished with the last group, I returned to the Moon Painting with another set of guests.

One middle-aged man from the group stepped closer and asked, "Did the painter have a spiritual background?"

I gave him a polite smile. "I can't say for sure, Sir. What I do know is that this piece came from the collection of an old noble family. I only restored it. But judging by the brush technique and the materials used, yes... there is a certain energy that feels different about this painting."

"Exactly. I felt like... there's something hidden behind it," his wife whispered.

I didn't respond to that directly. Because deep down... I felt the same.

I continued explaining the other paintings to them. After they walked off, I returned to the Moon Painting. I needed to take a closer look-just to make sure what I saw earlier wasn't just a shadow.

This time, I inspected it more carefully. My fingers traced the back corners of the canvas, pretending I was checking for last-minute touch-ups, when really, I was just staring at the image on it. But when I touched the bottom edge of the frame, I felt something thin slip between the wooden layers.

An old piece of paper.

I frowned slightly, then pulled it out slowly. It was yellowed, the edges brittle like it had been left in a damp place for too long. There was no visible writing-at least, not at first. But when I held it under the display light, faint patterns appeared-circles and strange lines in the center. Not writing. More like... engravings resembling symbols or specific images.

My index finger touched the surface. Instantly, a cold sensation shot through my arm. Not just any cold. A chill that pierced right into the bone. It felt... like a jolt of electricity.

I held my breath. "Is this part of the original piece?" I whispered, though I didn't expect an answer.

But before I could examine it further, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Instinctively, I slipped the paper into my notebook and closed it quickly.

I looked back at the painting.

And right then-again.

The faint pair of eyes etched into the fog of the painting shimmered for a second. Like dew reflecting the dim light of the hall. Just a blink. But it was clear.

My jaw dropped slightly. I looked around again. And once again... no one reacted. No one noticed anything.

Was this some kind of restoration effect? Or...

I turned toward where Kaelan had been standing. And he was still looking at me.

His gaze wasn't calm anymore. This time, there was confusion. A hint of worry. But also... something like recognition?

My heart sank.

Could it be that... he saw it too? Did he know something about this painting?

I looked away, trying to refocus on my duties. But the questions wouldn't stop spinning in my head.

***

It was almost 9 p.m. now. The number of guests was thinning. Classical piano music still played softly in the background, mixed with the occasional clink of glasses and quiet conversations.

I thanked the last group of guests, then walked to the drinks table. My hand trembled a little as I poured water. Maybe from exhaustion. Or... maybe something else.

"Rhea, are you okay?" asked Kira, one of the young curators who'd been helping me tonight.

I nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just a bit sore," I said, gently massaging my shoulder.

"That last group was a little intense, huh? Asking about the painter's inspiration and all that-even though you clearly said you only restored it."

I chuckled softly. "Happens all the time. You know how it is-people who love art always want to dig into its backstory before they buy anything."

"You're right."

I went quiet again, just playing with the glass in my hand.

Kira must've noticed, because she gently touched my arm. "You look really uneasy, Rhea. Did something happen? Did one of the guests make you uncomfortable?"

I turned to her. I almost told her that I'd seen something strange. That the famous guy standing in front of the painting made my heart race in a way I didn't understand. That afterward, my thoughts went completely haywire. But of course, I couldn't say any of that to Kira. I just gave her a small smile instead.

"No, Kira. I'm fine. I just need some fresh air. You know I'm not used to being in crowded places. That's why I'm drained."

She nodded understandingly. "Take a break and recharge. I'll keep an eye on things here."

I nodded and quickly left the main hall, walking down a narrow hallway toward the storage room. It was quieter there. No music, no eyes on me. Just the sound of my own breathing.

I sat down and leaned against the wall, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart. I closed my eyes, but the moment darkness settled in, I found myself thinking about Kaelan's gaze-and... that scent. The scent that, for some reason, felt so warm yet also gave me goosebumps.

Then, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned instinctively, like I was expecting someone.

And damn it, I was hoping it was Kaelan.

I let out a deep sigh. It was just a gallery staff member passing by with a box of catalogs. And when I realized that, I suddenly felt... disappointed.

Why would I feel disappointed? Kaelan and I don't even know each other.

"What's happening to me...?" I whispered, shaking my head a little.

I've never believed in anything metaphysical. I believe in art. In time. In restoration through clear, measurable techniques. Those things are real to me.

But tonight... it felt like I was being pulled into something I couldn't explain.

That painting. That man. That feeling. And... that scent.

***

After I calmed down a bit, I returned to the main hall. Most of the guests had already left. Just a few people lingered near the buffet or took photos to capture the moment.

I looked at the Moon Painting once more. I stood close enough to see the details of the mist spreading across the canvas edges. That scent... came back... faint, but still there.

"Looks like the guests are starting to leave," I said to Kira and Lina.

The two women, who had been standing near an abstract painting by a famous Spanish artist, came over to me. "Yeah," Kira replied.

Lina nodded too. "I think Kaelan's already gone."

"That hockey player?"

Lina nodded again. "Yep."

Kira turned to me, as if remembering something. "Oh... right, I almost forgot. He actually came up to me earlier."

"Did he want to buy a painting?" Lina asked.

Kira shook her head. "Nope. The painting stuff was already handled by his manager. He came to me for something else."

"What kind of something?" Lina asked, confused.

Kira looked back at me-her gaze more intense now. "He asked for your phone number, Rhea."

"Mine? Why?" I asked, equally confused.

"He said there was something important he wanted to talk to you about-something to do with the painting's restoration. So... I gave it to him."

Right after Kira said that, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

[No Name]

No Name: We're not done yet, Miss Hale.

-K

I stared at the screen for a long time before even thinking about replying or closing it. My heart had already started pounding again.

I didn't know who he really was. Or what that message meant.

But for the first time... I wanted to find out.

And that was the scariest part of all.

***

(Rhea's POV)

I stayed still, staring at the phone screen that was still lit. The message was short, but it felt heavy.

"We're not done yet, Miss Hale."

I reread it over and over again, as if hoping the meaning would change. But it didn't. The words stuck in my head like paint that hadn't dried yet-fragile, but lingering.

"What does he even mean...?"

My hands trembled as I slipped my phone into my bag. The air inside the gallery hall felt colder than before, or maybe it was just my body being overly sensitive to everything tonight. I glanced back at the painting of the Moon. Those golden eyes... that shimmer I'd seen more than once, still danced in my mind, like it was alive behind layers of paint and time.

"Lina, what do you think... about that moon painting?" I asked without taking my eyes off it.

Lina turned to look at the painting too. "It's beautiful. Like a surrealist piece with a mysterious atmosphere. The loneliness in it feels so strong. Like you're standing alone in a fog."

I nodded in agreement. "This painting feels like a nightmare, but a beautiful one," I added.

"Rhea," Lina called.

I turned quickly. "Hmm?"

"Are you sure you're okay? You look really pale."

I nodded. "I'm just tired. You know how fast my energy drains when I'm in crowded places too long."

Lina gave me a sympathetic look and rubbed my arm. "Then go home. Get some rest early. I'll take care of everything here."

I nodded. "Thank you so much, Lina, for understanding."

"It's nothing."

I got up right away. "I'll stop by to see Mrs. Elka first to get permission to leave. Thanks again, Lina."

"Anytime, Rhea. Be careful on your way home. Call me if anything happens."

I tried to smile to reassure her, even though deep down, I wasn't sure myself.

There was something heavy sitting on my chest, and I wasn't even sure I could explain it. Not to anyone. Not even to myself.

***

The sky over Elaria was overcast that night. Streetlights reflected off the asphalt, still damp from the afternoon rain. The scent of wet earth filled the air, blending with the chill that nipped at my fingertips.

I walked quickly toward my car parked behind the gallery building. My shoes made soft tapping sounds on the pavement, but still... the silence of the night felt like it was creeping too deep into my skin. Like it was holding something in.

I opened the car door and got in. Just as I set my bag down on the passenger seat, my phone vibrated again.

A second message.

[No Name]

No Name: I know this is confusing. But I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.

-K

I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then glanced at the rearview mirror. No one was there. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Again.

My palms were sweaty, despite the cold air.

With hesitant fingers, I typed a reply.

Me: What is it you actually want?

The reply came fast. Way too fast. Like he had been waiting for me.

[No Name]

No Name: Just to talk. That's all. I can meet you tomorrow-wherever you choose-before I get busy again with match schedules.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second.

Even without meeting him, just getting a message from him already made my body tense-like a violin string pulled too tight.

"Why do I react like this around this guy? Is it because he's famous? Or... is it something else that people don't know?"

It didn't feel like it was about fame. Not about the fact that he's Kaelan Viero. Maybe it was about something I couldn't see-something invisible, but deeply felt. Like a soft current of electricity running just beneath my skin.

I decided not to reply just yet.

Today had been too long. I needed sleep.

Or at least... I needed to try to sleep.

***

But of course, I didn't sleep tonight. Not even close.

I just lay there, staring at the ceiling of my apartment, listening to the sound of the rain that had started again, washing over the windows in a steady rhythm. Usually, the sound of rain calms me. But not tonight.

My thoughts kept racing-about Kaelan, about that painting, about the strange scent that felt oddly... familiar. About those golden eyes. About that brief touch in the stadium hallway. About the way he looked at me like I was some kind of puzzle he had to solve-and I didn't even know I was a puzzle.

I turned on the small bedside lamp and sat up. My chest felt tight. Not from fear. But from confusion. Because... this irrational feeling was getting harder and harder to shake.

I reached over to the table and picked up the piece of paper I'd found earlier that day, tucked behind the canvas of the Moon painting. Bits of dried paint still clung to its edges. The paper was blank-almost. But if you looked closely, there were faint markings... like a symbol. Like a carving, but not ink.

I'd tried searching for the shape in the restoration database. Nothing came up. I even checked through books of ancient symbols and artistic markings. Nothing. That symbol wasn't in any catalog I'd studied for years.

I gently ran my finger over it. And the moment my skin touched the surface, that pulsing ache in my head came back. Soft but piercing. Just like the first time I touched the painting.

There's something in that painting. Something no art theory or artifact history can explain.

And Kaelan... somehow, he's connected to it.

I know something in me has changed.

And Kaelan Viero... somehow, he's part of that change.

I was sure of it.

Until another message suddenly popped up on my phone.

I opened it right away. And again-it was from Kaelan.

[No Name]

No Name: Don't look into that painting on your own unless you're ready to dive much deeper.

I froze.

My eyes stayed fixed on the message. My fingers holding the phone began to tighten.

How does he know?

How does he know I'm looking into something?

How could he possibly know about the paper?

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I hadn't told anyone about this. Not Lina. Not Kira. No one saw me slip that paper into my notebook. No one knew... unless someone already knew.

My hands began to shake. I put the phone down on the table and stared at my own reflection in the window glass.

Outside, the rain started falling harder, like it was trying to wash away all sound from the world.

But inside, my mind was loud.

"What do you mean, Kaelan? Are you warning me? Or... threatening me?" I whispered.

I didn't know whether to feel scared or trust him. But one thing I did know-I couldn't pretend like nothing was happening anymore.

That object, that painting, and that man... I was absolutely certain they were all connected, forming a thread that was slowly wrapping itself around me.

***