Lilith.
The name fell from Adam's lips like a question he already knew the answer to. His smile was slow, deliberate, the kind of expression a snake wears before it strikes. He didn't step back. He didn't tense. He just stood there, golden and untouchable, watching her descend.
"Lilith," he said again, savoring it. "I wondered when you'd show your face."
Lilith landed without a sound. Her dress—black as the void she'd stepped from—settled around her ankles like smoke given form. Her eyes, dark and endless, locked onto Adam's face.
She didn't smile back.
Her hands hung at her sides. Relaxed. But Ken noticed the faint tremor in her fingers. Not fear. Restraint.
Adam tilted his head. "No greeting for an old friend?"
"Friend." Lilith's voice was soft. Almost gentle. The kind of soft that came before a storm. "Is that what you call yourself now?"
Adam's smile widened. "I call myself whatever the moment requires."
