Devereaux stood outside Ada's chamber, his grip steady on the tray as he paused for a moment, listening. The faint crackling of the hearth was the only sound that greeted him. The low murmur of conversation he had heard earlier was gone.

Slowly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Kaya had left. The only sign of his presence was the faint scent of brine and seaweed lingering in the air, as if the ocean itself had paid a brief visit to this dark place. The selkie's absence was palpable, the room feeling emptier without the warmth of his quiet words and gentle presence.

Ada lay motionless on the bed, sprawled across the crimson sheets, her eyes fixed on the empty ceiling above. Her face was pale, the tracks of dried tears still visible against her skin. She didn't move as Devereaux approached; didn't even seem to register his presence. Just... stared, lost in thoughts he couldn't begin to fathom.

Something tightened in his chest at the sight.

He approached silently, the only sound the faint clink of silver as he set the tray down on the small table beside her bed. The aroma of the hangover soup wafted up, rich and comforting, but she didn't stir. Didn't so much as glance at it.

"Ada?" His voice was soft, careful.

Nothing.

He tried again, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, leaning in slightly. "Ada, I brought you something."

Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, as if she hadn't heard him at all.

A flash of frustration—mixed with worry—flared in his chest. This was not the Ada he knew. This lifeless, hollow shell... It made his very bones ache to see her like this.

"Ada," he said more firmly, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. "It's hangover soup."

For a long moment, she didn't react. Then, ever so slowly, her eyes shifted—just barely—towards him. A flicker of recognition passed through them, but it was fleeting, as if she were looking at a stranger. His heart twisted painfully at the sight.

"You... made soup?" she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost lost to the crackling of the fire.

Devereaux nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. "Yes," he said quietly, his tone tinged with a touch of nostalgia. "My mom used to make me hangover soup when I was still a human. It was a fast and very effective remedy for me. And I thought... it might help you as well."

There was a long silence, broken only by the low hum of the flames. Slowly, Ada turned her head, her gaze drifting to the bowl of dark broth. She didn't reach for it, didn't move, just looked at it as if she were staring at something far away.

"I don't... deserve this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't deserve any of this."

A pang of something sharp and unnameable shot through him. He leaned forward, his expression softening. "That's not true."

She laughed then—a broken, bitter sound. "It is. I'm... pathetic. Look at me."

"I am looking at you," he murmured, his voice firm but gentle. "And all I see is someone who's hurting. Someone who needs to be taken care of, even if she thinks she doesn't deserve it."

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. She flinched, just barely, but didn't pull away. He took that as a good sign, a small victory in a battle he hadn't realised he was fighting.

"Just one sip," he urged softly, his voice a low, calming murmur. "For me."

For a moment, he thought she might refuse. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded—just a tiny dip of her head. Gently, Devereaux lifted the bowl, holding it up to her lips. She hesitated, her gaze flickering to his face, searching for something in his eyes.

Whatever she saw seemed to reassure her, because slowly, haltingly, she parted her lips and took a small sip.

The warmth of the broth seemed to breathe some colour back into her cheeks. She closed her eyes, letting out a shuddering breath, and for a moment, just a moment, the tension in her body seemed to ease.

"There," he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "That's it."

Another sip. Then another. He didn't rush her, didn't push. Just sat beside her, holding the bowl steady as she slowly—tentatively—drank.

When she finally pulled back, eyes fluttering open, some of the emptiness had receded from her gaze. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, there was a spark of something in her eyes. Something almost... vulnerable.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Devereaux's smile softened. "Always, Ada," he murmured. "Always."

Ada studied him closely, her brow furrowed as if trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle that refused to fit. "What happened to us?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "I can't remember anything... not even you."

His heart twisted painfully at her words. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to fill in the gaps in her memory with all the moments they had shared—the laughter, the fights, the fleeting glances that held a world of unspoken affection. But he knew he couldn't.

Devereaux swallowed hard, the weight of his truth heavy on his tongue. "I—" He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't come. "I wish I could tell you, Ada, but... I can't."

Her eyes widened, the hurt flashing across her face. "Why not? Don't you want me to remember?"

"It's not that simple," he replied, his voice strained. "I'm bound by rules... by the very nature of who I am. I can't reveal our past to you, not like this."

"What do you mean?" she pressed, her voice rising slightly. "You're here, aren't you? You can talk to me. You can tell me everything!"

But even as he looked into her pleading eyes, he knew he couldn't. "Death only meets the living at the threshold of life, and even then, it's to guide them to where they should go in the afterlife," he explained softly. "No one living can truly see me, Ada. Even if they do, I'm just a fleeting memory, bound to vanish like the dust of time gone by."

Her gaze faltered, and he could see the confusion in her eyes, the longing for connection that he wished he could fulfil. "But what if I want to remember?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"You need to have a strong reason to remember me." You need to have a strong reason to remember my beating heart.

"What if I have a reason?"

"The you must hold onto that reason and try find a way to look back to me, to us, even when we're not truly here."

"I don't know how but I really want to." Ada declared her resolve solid. "Because if I do... if I can remember me, truly remember, then maybe... just maybe, I can let you help me to find my way back."

She bit her lip, her expression shifting from confusion to determination. Tears pooled in Devereaux's eyes. He felt a surge of desperation, a fierce longing to reach her, to break the invisible wall between them.

"Ada," he began, his voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. "I... Can I try something?" His words hung in the air, fragile, almost fearful. He wasn't even sure if this would work, but he had to try.

She blinked, uncertainty flickering in her eyes before she nodded. She had to put at least this much trust in him if she wanted this to go anywhere from here.

Death moved closer, his hand trembling as he reached for her face, brushing a thumb over her cheek as if she might shatter under his touch.

Then, slowly, he leaned in. "Hold onto me," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips, "and don't let go." His gaze held hers for a moment longer, then he kissed her.

The moment their lips met, time unravelled, flooding him with every memory he had kept locked inside.

He saw her as a child, playing beneath the sun with her brother Auden and her grandmother's laugh echoing through the fields. He watched her grow up before his eyes, the girl whose smile lit up Crepusculum, the academy that shaped them both. He remembered standing at a distance when she first confessed her love for Gan, and the ache in his chest when she found joy in another's arms. He had stayed hidden then, not wanting to interfere.

And then the darker memories came. Gan's descent into madness, the betrayal that tore their world apart. Devereaux had fought him on Lady Moira's orders, locking him away, knowing that it would shatter Ada's heart. He'd watched her slip from his reach, her laughter replaced with tears. He couldn't bear to see her crumble under the weight of those days, so he'd kept his distance, watching from afar. But even as he distanced himself, he couldn't stop protecting her, sending others in his stead to ensure her safety, while he dealt with his own burdens.

Each memory poured into the kiss like an unstoppable torrent. He felt her melt against him, her body responding instinctively to the flood of emotions he'd carried for so long. Her lips trembled against his, soft and fragile, as if in that kiss she could grasp onto the pieces of their shattered past.

Tears streamed down Devereaux's face, the weight of years pressing on his heart. This was everything he had never said, everything he had never done, finally spilling over. When they broke apart, Ada gasped for breath, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with the same tears he carried.

"Wha—what—what was that?" Ada stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her face was streaked with tears, mirroring his own.

Devereaux couldn't speak. His throat tightened, and he felt the pull to run, to leave before the truth consumed them both. "I should go," he whispered, the words hollow in the space between them as he turned to leave.

But Ada grabbed his hand, her fingers curling tightly around his. "I—I didn't know."

He froze. His breath hitched, and his heart raced. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You—you remember?"

Ada nodded, her lip trembling as tears welled in her eyes again. She took a step closer, her resolve flickering in the fragile light of memory returning.

Devereaux's tears slipped freely as a broken smile spread across his face. Without a second thought, he lunged at her, wrapping her in a fierce hug, holding her as though the very world might fall apart if he let go.

How to make a hangover soup [Normy Edition]:

Yes, we are totally gonna ignore the fact that they just kissed. 

Hangover soup, often designed to be hydrating and soothing, varies by culture. One popular version is Korean hangover soup (Haejang-guk). Here's a recipe you can try:

Ingredients:

- 8 oz beef (brisket or stew meat)
- 1 tbsp sesame oil
- 1 tbsp soy sauce
- 6 cups water or beef broth
- 2-3 cloves garlic (minced)
- 1 tbsp gochugaru (Korean red pepper flakes) or to taste
- 1 cup Napa cabbage (chopped)
- 1/2 cup bean sprouts
- 2 green onions (sliced)
- 1/2 block of firm tofu (optional, cubed)
- 1/2 tbsp fish sauce
- 1 tsp sugar (optional)
- Salt and pepper to taste
- 1 egg (optional)

Instructions:

1. Prepare the beef: In a large pot, sauté beef with sesame oil over medium heat until lightly browned, about 3-4 minutes. Add soy sauce for flavour.

2. Add garlic and broth: Stir in minced garlic and pour in the water or beef broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for about 30 minutes or until the meat is tender.

3. Add vegetables: Add the Napa cabbage, bean sprouts, and tofu. Let it simmer for another 10 minutes until the veggies are soft.

4. Season: Stir in gochugaru (adjust according to your spice tolerance), fish sauce, and sugar. Add salt and pepper to taste.

5. Garnish and serve: Once ready, you can crack an egg into the soup and gently stir to cook it through. Add sliced green onions on top.

Enjoy this comforting, spicy, and revitalising soup to shake off that hangover!

(Resource: Google)