Heartprints in the Void
⊰ 20.5 | 1 ⊱ Beyond the Tattoos

**Cade**

The soft glow of Elysian's apartment envelops us as we sit across from each other, the weight of our past hanging heavy in the air. I search her face, trying to reconcile the woman before me with the hazy memories that dance just out of reach. Now, sitting here, looking at her, *really* looking at her, she looks different than I remember. Her features are more refined, her eyes holding a depth of pain and wisdom that wasn't there before.

I can see it on her face, the desire to have a conversation but unsure of where to start. I clear my throat, searching her soft features. "Tell me something," I say softly. "Besides how obviously beautiful and smart you are...what was it about you that made me fall in love with you?"

I watch as a flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks a delicate pink. She clears her throat, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan before she slips it off, revealing the intricate tattoos that wind their way up her arm. My gaze traces the swirls, and suddenly, I'm transported back in time, to a moment that feels both familiar and foreign.

We sat in a restaurant, the soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation surrounding us. Across from me, Elysian sat in a white long-sleeve t-shirt tucked into her black skirt, fishnet stockings, and black leather boots. As she reached for the menu, her sleeve rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of the ink that danced across her wrist. I felt a flicker of surprise, a hint of disapproval. I was never a fan of tattoos. I saw them as a mark of rebellion-taboo. But as I looked at *her*, taking in the way the candlelight played across her features, the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, I found myself intrigued. I'd seen a lot of beautiful women, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from her, my eyes tracing the lines of her face, the curves of her lips.

She must've felt my stare, because she glanced up at me, a curious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "See anything you might like?" she teased, nodding at the menu though we both knew what she was *really* talking about. I chuckled, shaking my head as I picked up my own menu. "I don't know. I mean, it all looks so... *appealing*." I nudged back.

The corners of her lips tugged into a smile, her cheeks burning a rose pink as she tried to hide her face behind the pages.

I knew in that moment that I was in trouble. This girl, with her quick wit and fearless spirit, had already begun to get under my skin.

The memory fades as quickly as it came, and I'm back, sitting next to Elysian as she picks at a loose thread on her leggings. As she tells me about her life, it's as though the puzzles in my head are starting to connect, remembering details about the childhood she once told me.

She didn't have a great relationship with her aunt, but her aunt was all she had after her parents died. She was the only person who'd take her in, and she had no choice but to adhere to her and take everything short of physical child abuse from her.

"Go on," I prompt gently, encouraging her to continue.

"College was a turning point for me," she says softly, her gaze distant, as if she's seeing into the past. "I met people who challenged me, pushed me to do better. People like your mom, *Dr. O* as I liked to call her." *I remember... Mom used to talk about her all the time.*

My eyes widen, a jolt of recognition sparking through me like an electric current. "You were one of her students," I murmur, the words more a statement than a question.

Elysian nods, a fond smile tugging at her lips, and I feel a pang of something like nostalgia, like longing in my chest. "She was my favorite professor. Tough as nails, but brilliant and always pushing me to do better."

I remember how passionate my mother was about teaching, the way her eyes would light up when she spoke of her students. The way she'd smile and laugh when she'd talk about how particularly fond she was of Elysian, about how she'd love for me to meet her.

It's as though she can read my thoughts, Elysian's next words catching me off guard and sending a shiver down my spine. "It's actually *because* of her that you and I met."

I arch a brow, my forehead creasing in confusion as I try to make sense of *how* that happened. "We met through her? How exactly did *that* happen?"

She takes a deep breath, as if steadying herself, and I find myself leaning forward, drawn in the intensity of her gaze.

"It was after class one day," she begins, her voice soft and almost reverent. "I had stayed behind to go over an exam with her, and you walked in while we were talking. You were there to take her to lunch, remember?"

As she speaks, I feel a flicker of recognition, a sense of déjà vu that sends my mind reeling. Suddenly, I'm back in that classroom, the scent of chalk and old books filling my nostrils, the afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows and casting a glow over everything.

I remember seeing my mother, her face alight with pride and affection as she introduced me to Elysian, her *star pupil*. I remember feeling the crackle of electricity that passed between us as our eyes met, the instant pull of attraction and curiosity that drew me in like a moth to a flame.

"She invited you to join us, didn't she?" I ask, my voice sounding distant, almost dreamlike to my own ears.

Elysian nods, a wistful smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "She did. And then, part way through lunch, she suddenly remembered an *urgent* errand she needed to run. She left the two of us there, alone, insisting we stay and finish our lunch."

I feel my lips twitch, a hint of amusement shining through the haze of confusion and uncertainty. "That sounds like her," I murmur, shaking my head with a soft chuckle.

My mother, always the meddler, always the *matchmaker*. She had a way of seeing things that others missed.

And with Elysian and me, it seems, she had hit the bullseye.

*And that's how we ended up there...*

The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, the snippets of memory coalescing into a clearer picture. I remember the restaurant.

*That's when I saw her tattoos.*

I remember the spark of connection that had ignited between us, the easy flow of conversation that had lasted long after my mother had left us alone.

But most of all, I remember the feeling of being seen, truly seen, for perhaps the first time in my life. Elysian had looked at me not as a Sinclair, not as the heir to a fortune and a legacy, but as a man, flawed and complex and achingly human. "She knew what she was doing," Elysian confirms, echoing my thoughts with a soft laugh. "She saw how well we were getting along. I think she wanted to give us a chance to connect, without her there as a buffer."

I'm quiet for a long moment, letting her words sink in, trying to reconcile the man I am now with the man I was then, the man who sat across from her at that table and felt the world shift beneath his feet.

"And did we?" I ask softly, almost afraid to hear the answer. "Connect, I mean."

She swallows, and I can see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, the way her throat works as she tries to compose herself. "I thought we did," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "That lunch turned into coffee, which turned into dinner and...*many* other things,"

She pauses, exhaling a shaky breath, and I can feel the weight of the memories pressing down on her, the burden of a love that was lost, a future that was stolen-*our* future.

"When we were good, we were *really* good," she continues, a half-hearted chuckle escaping her lips. "And when we weren't, well... It was passionate."

I feel a tug in my chest, a longing for something I can't quite name a desire for something I don't really know.

But then her voice falters, her gaze dropping to her lap as she trails. "But maybe I was wrong," she murmurs, so softly I have to strain to hear her. "Maybe I just imagined it all, saw what I wanted to see..."

I watch as she struggles to compose herself, as she tries to blink back the tears that threaten to spill over. And in that moment, I feel a fierce protectiveness wash over me, a need to shield her from the pain, to take away the hurt I know I'm responsible for.

Because even though the memories are hazy, even though the details are lost in a fog of confusion and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: we had something special, something *real*.

And no matter what my father did, no matter how hard he tried to twist and manipulate my mind, he couldn't erase the truth.