Chapter 2
Lucien
The weather in New York always carries a kind of magic this time of year. Warm days that flirt with cool nights. I’ve told myself it’s why I keep coming back to this city around fall. Familiarity. Comfort.
A lie.
I sigh and shake my head, a breathless laugh escaping me. No, that isn’t the reason. Not even close. When did I start lying to myself? Probably around the same time that I began pretending I could outrun what I am.
I don’t come for the weather. I come because New York lets me vanish.
In a city bursting with 8.5 million lives, no one looks twice at a ghost trying to blend in.
And that’s precisely what I am here—a ghost, a shadow slipping through alleys and avenues, trying to remember what it feels like not to carry the weight of a realm on my shoulders.
In Imperium, I’m not just a name. I’m a symbol. And symbols can’t fall apart.
Aris’s leadership turned everything inside out.
The last two solar cycles under his reign have been relentless, a suffocating chokehold gripping even the Warpers like me.
But I’m under a microscope. Every move. Every breath.
Aris watches me as if I’m both a threat and a prophecy he’s desperate to control.
Perhaps I am.
Still, I visit. I always come back, even knowing the risk I take.
The moment I step into the rhythm of this city, I feel it—chaos.
Vibrant. Alive. Car horns. Shouting. The laughter of street performers echoing off glass buildings.
I wander aimlessly until I find myself, as always, near Times Square.
There’s something oddly comforting about standing here, watching tourists bumble through crosswalks and overpriced souvenirs. I can almost always tell who isn’t from around here. It’s a game I like to play. An easy guess for someone completely foreign to this land.
The irony? They look at me and see one of them. Normal. Human.
And yet, I’m far from it.
The crosswalk light flashes red, halting the herd of pedestrians beside me. A young woman nearby yells into her phone, her voice slicing through the buzz of traffic. Something about underwear, betrayal, and a man who clearly doesn’t understand loyalty.
I smirk.
Humans. Fragile. Impulsive. So willing to waste what little time they’re given on pain that doesn’t serve them.
Imperium isn’t perfect, but we have time.
Enough to understand that mediocrity shouldn’t be the standard.
Here, they settle for misery out of fear of being alone.
I’ll never understand it. Or them. And maybe that’s why I keep my distance.
Emotional entanglement in this realm is dangerous—for them and for me.
Still, I love the city. And every visit begins the same way.
With coffee.
I slip into a familiar shop nestled between two office buildings in Midtown. It’s open late, which suits someone who doesn’t operate on this realm’s time. Warmth envelops me as I step inside, the scent of roasted beans, sugar, and something that feels like nostalgia.
I order black coffee. Always black. Bitter. Strong. Exactly how I need it.
We don’t have this in Imperium. Caffeine disrupts our telepathic channels, muddies our thoughts, and fractures our connections.
In my realm, that’s a liability.
Here? It’s freedom.
The barista looks up and stares a second too long. It happens more often than I’d like. There’s something about what I am that calls to women here, even if they don’t know why. I offer a soft smile and reach into my back pocket.
Nothing.
No local currency.
Brilliant.
Before I can speak, she winks and slides the coffee across the counter anyway—a subtle offering. I nod in thanks and step back into the night. Sometimes it really is that easy.
But I know better than to trust ease.
Every time I come here, I tell myself I’m just visiting. That I’ll leave unscathed. And every time, something—a scent, a moment, a spark of energy—makes it harder to go back.
I descend into the subway, the sounds of the city fading until they’re nothing more than muffled echoes above concrete. There’s no destination. There never is. Sometimes I ride just to ride, watching tunnels blur past like memories I’d rather forget.
As I place my hand over the electronic fare reader, a pulse emits and the turnstile unlocks. I move toward the platform, thoughts drifting, eyes tracing the grid of lines in the floor. Leaning against a pillar, I try not to think about Imperium.
That’s when I feel it.
A sudden tug of tension in the air.
Two men stand ahead. Strangers. Silent in a way that feels off. A look passes between them—quick, intentional—before their focus shifts.
Toward her.
A woman stands near the edge of the platform, scanning the tunnel for the train. Too close. My eyes narrow. Something about this feels wrong. I turn away, lifting my coffee for a sip.
The cup slips from my hand as the sound slices through me.
A scream so raw it silences even New York.
I spin back, catching only a blur of motion.
The men are already running, fleeing up the stairs.
Cowards.
And she—she’s no longer standing. She’s on the tracks. Motionless.
The pieces snap into place like shards of glass reforming in reverse. The train is approaching fast. I feel the vibration before I see the glow. There’s no time.
Fuck.
I know it immediately.
There are moments that define you—moments that split life into before and after. A breath. A choice. A second. One path keeps you safe. Predictable. The other tears you apart and remakes you entirely.
I’ve never been safe or predictable.
So I take door number two.
I leap onto the tracks, boots hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Dropping low beside her, I block the blinding beam of the oncoming train as best I can. She stirs, groaning softly, fingers brushing a gash above her brow. Blood streaks her temple, vivid against her skin.
Then her eyes open.
And gods, help me.
They’re the most incredible eyes I’ve ever seen.
Hazel—no, more than hazel. A ring of deep green circles the iris, nearly glowing, melting into sea-glass shimmer and amber warmth. A kaleidoscope that pulls at something buried deep inside me.
For one impossible second, I forget the train. The danger. The world.
I forget everything but her.
She blinks, disoriented. “What . . . happened?”
Her voice is hoarse. Fragile. Human.
It snaps me back to reality.
I don’t let her finish.
“Hold on to me,” I say, sharper than intended. My voice carries more command than comfort, but we don’t have time for gentle.
The train screams against the rails. Closer. Louder.
She turns toward it just as the air hits—a violent rush of heat, oil, and scorched metal blasting her face. I see the horror crash into her all at once.
I reach for her face, gently turning her gaze away from the lights and back to me. “Look at me.” I soften my tone. “Only me. Nothing else exists right now.”
Our eyes meet. Her breath hitches.
“Hold on. Don’t let go.”
She nods, fingers clutching my arm. She doesn’t understand what’s coming. How could she? She’s had seconds to process all of this.
But I do.
There’s no time to drag her to the platform. No time for second chances.
I shut my eyes and feel the power unfurl from the depths of my core, like a storm trying to break free.
It surges through my legs, spirals up my spine, floods my chest, my arms, my hands.
The air around us warps. Wind kicks up suddenly, violently, funneling around our bodies.
Trash and grit spiral into the air, caught in the force of what I’m becoming.
And then—stillness.
Time holds its breath.
The train shrieks in protest as it tears through the tunnel toward us. Light flickers against the walls like the last moments before impact. I raise one hand before us, the other braced around her body, anchoring her to me.
“Close your eyes!” I shout, my voice trembling with strain, nearly drowned out by the roar of the train.
“Now!”
She doesn’t scream.
She obeys.
The energy explodes from me, lifting us off the tracks and hurling us backward in a blinding surge. It swallows us whole—a beam of pure, searing white. I feel the bend. The tear through reality as it splits time around us, slicing through the veil.
Then we’re thrust forward, through the light and into silence.
She’s still wrapped in my arms, breath hitching, her pulse racing wildly against my chest.
And everything has changed.
We’re flying—not the way mortals dream of with wings or machines, but through a current of pure force.
Color tears around us like ribbons in a silent storm.
Crimson. Emerald. Sapphire. Flame. The air ripples.
We’re weightless, her arms locked around my waist, fingers clenched in panic.
She hasn’t opened her eyes, likely still waiting for the train to hit.
It won’t.
We’re already gone.
The pressure shifts—dense, familiar. I know the sensation too well. We’re nearing the edge of the crossing, the veil thinning, folding us into the boundary of another realm.
My realm.
Gravity slams back into us. She sags in my arms, limp, unconscious. The pulse I felt racing—bright, electric, impossible to ignore—is gone.
I look around.
Crumbling stone walls loom high on either side of us. The alley is narrow, forgotten. Ancient glyphs shimmer faintly beneath our feet.
Carefully, I lower her to the worn cobblestones.
Her hair fans out across the stone, and for a moment, she looks sacred, something that doesn’t belong here in my land.
I press one hand over her heart, the other against her brow.
Closing my eyes, I reach inward, calling the bond between us to life, searching for the thread that leads to her.
An electric pulse stirs beneath my palm, spreading through her like light through shadow.
Nothing.
Then—
A spark.
It leaps from her chest, hot and sudden, surging up my arm and into me.
She’s still there.
“You’re fine now,” I whisper into her hair.
Her chest rises. A breath. Then another shuddering exhale, like the air had been trapped in her lungs since we tore her from death. I steady her, one hand braced behind her back, the other grounding us both.
Her eyes snap open.
Panic floods her face before her mind can catch up. She scans wildly, searching for the train, the station—anything familiar.
“What’s going on?” Her words tumble out, breathless and edged with terror. “What just happened? Am I dead?”
“We’re safe,” I murmur, forcing a levelness into my voice. “And no—you’re not dead.”
I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, revealing the gash above her brow. Blood streaks her temple, a stark reminder of how close she came. Proof that this is real. She doesn’t flinch, but I drop my hand anyway.
That’s when I really see her.
Skin kissed by the sun, glowing with warm gold. Hair cascading in thick waves of chocolate and caramel, defying gravity—and my ability to concentrate. Soft, full lips the color of rose petals, a little pouty, like she’s either annoyed or seconds from saying something sarcastic.
And the dress—
It walks a dangerous line, hinting just enough to spark the imagination while leaving no doubt about the body beneath.
She’s impossible not to notice.
And I am very obviously staring.
“Then . . . where am I?” Her words cuts straight through my mental spiral.
I open my mouth—and freeze.
Footsteps. Voices. Too close.
I glance toward the street beyond the alley.
This is Imperium.
“Shit,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Shit?” she echoes, panic flaring. “What the hell is going on?”
Her eyes dart, body coiling like prey ready to bolt. I don’t blame her. This isn’t New York. This isn’t even her world. Stone towers rise around us, ancient and marked with glyphs her kind has never learned to read.
Pomerium—my sector. The capital of Imperium.
And she’s standing right in the middle of it. Radiantly human. Perilously visible.
I grip her shoulder gently, grounding her. “I’m going to take you home.”
She jerks her head up. “How do you know where I live? Who are you?”
Footsteps draw closer.
No time.
I pull her with me, ducking behind a massive door wedged open between the towers. She gasps softly at the sudden movement. I meet her eyes and give her the most sincere look I can manage.
Trust me.
Then her gaze lifts past me.
To the sky.
Two suns burn overhead—twin fires where only one should exist. One blazes white and merciless. The other is darker, heavier, casting warped shadows across the city.
A gasp tears from her.
I’ve seen that realization break stronger souls than hers—the moment someone understands they’ve crossed somewhere they don’t belong.
I center her before it can crush her. “What’s your name?” I ask quietly, giving her something to hold on to.
She hesitates, then drags her eyes back to me. “Chloe . . .” She lets out a nervous laugh with no humor at all. “I mean—Cece.” Her gaze flicks back to the sky. “I’m hallucinating. I have to be, right?”
Her voice cracks. She’s moments from breaking.
“Cece, we need to go. Now.” I lower my voice. “I’ll take you back. I swear it. But we can’t stay here.”
“Back?” Her eyes widen, panic pulling her inward. Then she stills, no longer fighting for control. Shoulders tighten. Eyes squeeze shut.
A silent agreement.
My fingers close around hers—warm, trembling—and I lead us into the city.