Echoes of Albion

Story loosely inspired by

Story loosely inspired by

Story inspired by @Diane-de-la-Cheneraye

Meanwhile, Tariq, Rhys, and Mo whispered in the back of a club. Suspicion spread like smoke: one of their own accused of betrayal. A hit was planned in the shadows, even as Kahlil held Ellie close, unaware that loyalty and death were being bartered just a room away.

Later, in the dim light, their bodies pressed close on the studio couch, they found a tenderness that surprised them both. She thought of Worthington Hall, of ancestors framed in gold, and realised she had crossed a threshold none of them could have imagined.

“Too heavy for you?” he asked softly.

“It’s the truth,” she whispered. “And I want the truth.”

His hand lingered on hers. For the first time in his songs and her silences, they discovered what it meant to belong.

London glowed under a harsher light. Ellie sat in the back of a car, glass towers rushing by. Kahlil was beside her, hood drawn low. At the studio, his voice poured into the microphone like fire, his lyrics sharp with survival.

She listened, transfixed. Afterward, when the others had gone, he pulled her into the shadowed corner. Their mouths met again, urgent this time, and she let him guide her into the warmth of his world.