Chapter 4
Lucien
We make the short walk from Quantum Pour to my residence in silence, and I thank the gods for that, because having her here is already digging me deeper into a hole. I can’t afford to give her more information than necessary.
The moment we step inside, her eyes widen, then sweep the space. She drifts toward the main room, stopping at the wall where I keep art, artifacts, and the random remnants of past missions on display.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask, but it’s to no avail. She’s so absorbed she barely registers my voice as she runs her fingertips over the stones lining the shelf. “Hungry? Thirsty?” I repeat.
“N-no, I’m good. Thanks,” she says, dismissing me without a look.
Finally, she stops and turns to face me.
“I have so many questions, Lucien. And honestly, I know the only reason I’m not fully losing my mind right now is that whatever I drank at that bar is clearly still doing its job.
” She gestures vaguely around us. “That drink must have been potent, because this . . . this is insane. It’s terrifying. And also . . . kind of incredible.”
I look away, heat crawling up my neck. I’m a fucking idiot. I knew this moment was coming, and I still have no idea how to face it. I can’t tell her anything that truly matters. The problem is, I can already tell she won’t accept that.
“Earth to Lucien.”
I glance up to see her waving a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Well, I mean,” she continues, laughing like she’s just said the cleverest thing in the world, “I suspect we’re no longer there anyway, so I guess never mind what I said.”
She throws her hands up like none of it matters, then drifts over to the couch and lazily drops down onto the cushions. Looking up at me, she waits—confident, expectant—like she already knows I’ll cave and admit she’s right.
She isn’t kidding. That drink is clearly taking hold, because after everything she’s seen today, she should be unraveling.
“Sooo,” she says, lifting an eyebrow, “speaking of locations, care to tell me who you are exactly? And maybe enlighten me as to where I am?”
I lower myself into the chair across from her, realizing a second too late that I should’ve grabbed a drink before walking into what will inevitably be a shit-show of a conversation.
Instead, my gaze drifts past her, through the glass wall, and up into the sky.
A sky I’ve known my entire life, yet tonight the stars burn brighter.
Bolder. A stark reminder of just how far from home she is.
“You already know my name, Cece.” I glance back at her just long enough to catch the way she leans forward, waiting.
Needing confirmation that she isn’t crazy for thinking what she’s thinking.
“And I brought you somewhere else. Temporarily.” I meet her eyes again, then look away just as quickly.
“Get some rest. We’ll leave soon. I need a little more time for things to settle. ”
Her expression hardens. “What the hell? Stop this bullshit. Are you holding me hostage or something?”
I let out a slow breath, forcing my hands to unclench. “No,” I grit out, keeping my voice low. “Hostages aren’t invited to sit comfortably and interrogate their captors.”
“That’s not exactly comforting,” she snaps.
Fuck.
“I know.” My voice softens. That’s a problem. I can’t help it with her, and I have no idea why—which only makes it worse. “But you’re safe. I mean you no harm. I swear it.”
She studies me like she’s trying to peel back layers I’ve spent centuries perfecting. Her foot bounces against the stone floor, the first real crack in her composure since the bar.
“You said you brought me here,” she says. “That means you can take me back. So why am I still here? Why can’t I go home right now?”
I hesitate, weighing how much to say. In the end, I choose avoidance.
“I need you to trust me,” I say carefully. “These questions aren’t helping right now. Actually, they’re doing the opposite. Try to relax. Enjoy the view. When it’s safe to bring you back, I will. I didn’t save you just to hurt you.”
Her eyes harden instantly, anger flaring bright and unmistakable.
Right. Wrong answer.
“I am trusting you,” she snaps. “I have been. But trust is earned, Lucien. And I appreciate you rescuing me—I really do. But I’m in some foreign place, and I don’t actually know you.
And when I say foreign, I mean really foreign.
” She gestures wildly, words spilling fast. “And you brush off my concerns and tell me to relax and enjoy the view? Are you serious?”
Okay. Point taken.
I can see now how badly that landed. Still, I won’t pretend her fire, her refusal to shrink, isn’t fascinating.
I watch her as she continues, though her words blur together.
Instead, I notice the sharp tilt of her chin, the confidence in her movements, the quick flash in her eyes—like she’s daring the world to keep up.
She radiates energy. Sass. An almost unnatural ability not to fall apart.
Sure, some of it is Quantum Pour’s infamous Oppidum Elixir, but I suspect most of it is simply who she is. And if that’s true, she’s utterly captivating.
“Did I lose you again?” she asks.
“My apologies. What was the question?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’d answer it even if you heard it.”
She takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the floor before lifting back to mine.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says, shoulders easing.
“I’m not trying to be a jerk, and somehow that’s exactly what I’m doing.
” She kicks off what look like very uncomfortable shoes and draws her legs up onto the couch.
“So how are we . . .” Her voice lowers. “Getting back? I assume you can tell me that, since I’ll know soon enough anyway. Right?”
“The same way we got here,” I reply.
Her brows lift. “Oh. Okay.” She nods—then snaps her head up. “Who were those men I met today? Fazen and Orren. How do you know them?”
The speed of her pivot catches me off guard. “They’re what I’d consider,” I pause, choosing carefully, “colleagues.”
She narrows her eyes, then smirks. “Sure, Lucien. Maybe Fazen is. But not Orren.” She studies me thoughtfully. “I can see the kind of respect that man commands. He’s someone . . .” She searches for the right phrasing. “. . . more important?”
It makes me laugh. Not just what she said—but that she said it at all. It’s rare. And hell if it isn’t refreshing.
She grabs the blanket I keep on the sofa and drapes it around her shoulders. “I can see I’m getting nowhere, so I’m going to step outside and admire that ridiculous sky. Because if I wake up in a hospital and realize this was all head trauma, I want to say I saw it one more time.”
She gestures toward the glass wall, where the moons glow beyond the horizon.
I smirk. “For what it’s worth, we should be able to leave shortly.”
She nods and slips out the door without looking back.
I keep my eyes on that shut door longer than necessary. Longer than I should.