A figure wanders the imposing halls of the institute with purpose. He walks with wide paces, crossing the corridors with unrivaled speed. There is an urgency about him. A stiff and hostile seeming figure near launches themself into him, but quickly offers him a hand to help him up. A flash of dyed hair and accusing eyes. There is a violence about his would-be attacker. She carries herself as if it were all an accident, but the figure knows better.

"Excuse me, could you direct me to Asteria, perhaps," it inquires, "I believe she is here."

Melanie pauses, casting a curious glance over the figure, "Ah, you must be looking for Helen. I can probably find her for you," she offers.

"So she changed her name then? I suppose it is not uncommon for us," the figure remarks casually. Something about the way they talk bothers Melanie.

"I'm sorry, can I take your name for her perhaps?"

"She wouldn't know me, but it's Miller Morri. Tell her I have some questions for her." Melanie's eyes flash. She has heard that name somewhere, certainly.

As the worker sets off in search of Helen, Miller finds himself lost in thought, the weight of his purpose pressing heavily upon him. When Helen finally arrives, he feels a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins, eager to confront her with the questions that have been burning in his mind.

"Hi! I heard you wanted to talk, maybe we could have a little walk and chat, grab some tea. I was about to go out for a snap anyway." Helen suggests, her voice breaking through Miller's reverie. Her voice is what he expects it to be, but she carries herself differently than he is used to seeing her. There is more confidence, something more content about her. She always seems so sunken and tired, and full of sorrow and pain in his dreams. Maybe, just maybe he is on time for once in his life.

"That certainly works for me." Miller agrees, falling into step beside her as they make their way out of the Institute and into the bustling streets beyond.

I know you from somewhere. No. You know me. Perhaps, know isn't correct. I can see that you have seen me before somewhere. Feels like the end. Miller turns his head, eyes squinting at me. Ah, he caught me staring.

As we step into the café I have in mind, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelopes us. I have been here a couple times with Elias, and it's always a treat when we go together. I miss him. I scan the menu, but Miller's voice interrupts my search, "What are you getting?"

"London fog," I tell him.

He nods, ordering an espresso. That is what they do best here. I like something a tad sweeter though. He orders like someone that is trying to be decisive. I chance another glance, but he is quick to notice my gaze.

We approach the counter, and my eyes dart over the menu, "I'll take a hot latte with caramel, please."

I can feel Miller's raised eyebrow and curious gaze staring into me. He's not discrete at all. I at least wasn't trying to be discrete, but I guess he is surprised after all. I miss making jokes like this. Times were simpler!

Our orders taken, we glide over to some seats. I look behind my shoulder at him, "I lied,'" I whisper.

The silence while we wait for our drinks is unbearably awkward. Miller stares so much, and not in a fun way. There is a discomfort Miller has in my presence. I would pry, but I think I will find out in just a bit.

After our drinks come, I take a sip. My tongue comes away numb, and I hiss, pressing the drink down into the table. Miller downs his drink in an instant. It is clear he wanted privacy away from the institute, but he did not want this to last.

"Why are you here?" Miller's voice cut through the air, his words carrying an edge of curiosity that bordered on suspicion.

I blow a breath across the surface of my drink, my hands clasped around the cup. "Elias actually recommended this place, he likes the espresso here," I reply. I can feel heat rolling off of Miller in waves of annoyance mixed with curiosity.

"No. I mean here, Helen," he presses further, "Why did you choose the Beholding?" So clearly we have some basis of familiarity if we are just getting into it like this. I hate avatars like you, you're far too doubtful, and I have enough of that haunting me.

"I assume you know me in some other context, considering you are an avatar of the end, what have I been in your dreams or something?" They flinch, I sip at my drink. It is still too warm.

"If you know that much, then you know what I want to discuss," his response is bitter, a dark complement to my drink.

"You've seen me die." He flinches at the words. He is so jumpy.

"In a thousand different ways, Helen. I only wonder, which one shall take you in this life." I sip at my drink, and the warmth travels through me fiery and sweet. Miller shifts and scowls, sliding to the edge of his seat.

"Everyone dies," I take another sip, "I fail to see your purpose in this conversation."

"You should leave, while you still can," he urges. It would have been apt of you to tell me to leave months ago, or years even. I don't know you, but surely you must have a different motive. Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn't be able to at this point.

They pause, "I'm too late." They are leaning closer and closer, practically pressing against the table at this point. "Are you really willing to die for him?" Miller is shifting closer and closer.

I guess. "If he asks." I hold my drink close to me and away from the table. Miller downed his without enjoying it, and I would rather get the chance to actually drink mine. I worry that they will knock over the table.

"You-I hate you so much." There is a distorted and painful constipated look twisting Miller's delicate features. They really do seem like someone that is prone to such behaviors however.

"I just bought you like, London's best coffee, dude." I force out a laugh and then swallow an uncomfortable amount of my drink. It is really good though.

"It is pretty nice, but it is a bit too bitter for me." Miller sinks back into his seat.

"Death is inescapable, Miller. At least I like where I am until it happens," I remark. I close my eyes for a moment, I can imagine he is here with me right now. I can feel his gaze upon me even now.

"There are better options, Helen," Miller's lips twist into a barbed smile. "There are better endings. Don't let this one be your end." Ironic coming from you of all things.

"I thought you would have wanted me dead considering what you are?" I tilt my head to the side with a smile. There is a prickling at the back of my neck. Wish you were here.

Miller's expression softens, a flicker of compassion shining in his eyes. "I am a bit frustrated with you, yes, but I feel like I know you. I don't think you deserve this. You could make things work, if you just tried," he insists, his words filled with seemingly genuine concern. I question if he thinks he has convinced himself of this authenticity and goodheartedness. This is not what we are. You don't survive that way. I know that much.

"You're starting to sound like my mother." My drink turns sour. You went and ruined a perfectly good coffee with your shit. "What makes you think I haven't been trying my hardest all my fucking life? I don't want everything to be fine." I don't care anymore about what is deserved. I will take from this world what I want, and carve it into something new. "I don't want happily ever after. I just want everyone else to suffer."

Miller's gaze softens, a sad smile playing at the corners of his spiked lips. "You don't want suffering. You want satisfaction. You really just want to be happy." Ah, how can you say something so true yet so poorly timed. Maybe what you need is a goodnight's sleep and a dream journal.

I shake my head, "You don't even know–"

Miller's sudden outburst jolts me out of my thoughts, his hand striking the table with a sharp clap. The sound reverberates through the air, sending a shiver through me. I can feel the tension coiling in the muscles of my neck and shoulders, a visceral reaction to his unexpected display of anger. I hate being yelled at; it feels like the walls are closing in on me, suffocating me.

An invisible string tugs at my wrist, a reminder of the bond I share with Elias. It grounds me in the reality of our connection like a hand at the small of my back and a whisper in my ear. With a shaky breath, I force myself to focus on that tether, drawing strength from its presence. I am fine. I repeat the words like a mantra, willing myself to believe them in the face of Miller's eruption.

"At least I tried for you. Just so you know, you were the last person I cared about. I hope this world fucking rots," Miller's parting words hang heavy in the air, a bitter reminder of our fractured relationship. His anger is palpable, a tangible force that lingers in the space he leaves. And then, with one final declaration, he storms out of the cafe, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering sense of unease.

How abysmal.

I ponder over Miller's motivations, his sudden departure sparking a whirlwind of questions in my mind. Did he truly want to save me, or was his offer of help merely a guise for his own self-preservation? The identity crisis that seems to plague him is a puzzle I can't quite solve, a tangled web of contradictions and uncertainties. He still thinks he is caught between two worlds, torn between human desires and the darkness that lurks. It is too late for both of us.

But one thing is certain: the end doesn't work that way. Miller's misguided attempts to rescue me only serve to highlight the futility of our predicament. We are creatures bound by fate, ensnared in the machinations of forces far beyond our control. And yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there is tranquility to be found in the company of Elias. Together.

Morbid, I know.

It's a strange sensation, this lingering presence that tugs at the corners of my mind even in his absence. It's like a phantom limb, a constant ache that reminds me of his existence, yet only serves to deepen the chasm between us. Sometimes, it feels like I can almost reach out and touch him, but the reality is far more cruel.

I yearn for his closeness with a desperation that borders on obsession. I long to feel the warmth of his hand in mine, to lose myself in the depths of his eyes, to hear the steady rhythm of his breath as it mingles with mine. Is this love? It's a question I've pondered endlessly, yet the answer eludes me. Our connection transcends the ordinary bounds of affection, traversing into realms unknown and uncharted.

Yet, despite the depth of my desire, I'm torn. I crave love, the kind that fills the soul and lights up the darkness. But such sentiments are reserved for those untouched by the shadows that cling to us. We are creatures of the night, bound by forces beyond our control. Love, for us, is a luxury we can ill afford. And so, I resign myself to this solitary existence, forever haunted by the specter of what could never be.