Chapter 12 Cece
Cece
By the time I get home, my hands are shaking. I tell myself it’s the wind. The chill. The second cocktail I barely touched. Anything but what it really is, the feeling of seeing him.
And this time, I’m not convinced it was just Lucien.
I unlock the apartment door with trembling hands, my keys clattering against the lock before it finally gives way.
The door closes behind me with a dull thud, and I lean against it for longer than necessary.
Just breathing. Thinking back to that moment at the bar.
I don’t bother with the lights. The dark somehow feels familiar. Quiet.
But something feels . . . different.
Not dangerous, just that sensation you get when you walk into a room someone has only just left. Still warm. Still holding a trace of them. I shake it off and reach for the switch, flooding the apartment with a soft glow that feels too ordinary for how strange the air still is.
My bag goes on the counter. I kick off my shoes and walk barefoot to the sink, pouring a glass of water like it might settle something in me.
It doesn’t.
When I turn toward the living room, I gasp.
He’s standing by the window, half-hidden behind the curtain, like he’s been waiting for me but unsure if he should have. I stop so fast I nearly drop the glass. My heart slams hard in my chest, adrenaline spiking until my hands feel cold.
“Lucien, you scared the shit out of me. How did you . . . ?” The words come out thin, caught somewhere between panic and shock.
He doesn’t move or rush to explain. He just looks at me with the same intensity I remember from the rooftop. Like he has a thousand things to say but is holding back, afraid I’ll break. Or afraid I’m something he doesn’t want to lose. It puts me on edge, but it doesn’t feel frightening.
“I had to make sure you were safe,” he says, his voice low and even. There’s no apology in it. Just calm conviction. At least it sounds honest.
“I saw you tonight,” I whisper, fingers curling into my palms. “On the rooftop.”
He nods once. “I didn’t mean to be seen.”
My throat tightens. “Then why let me?”
The question slips out as I lift my gaze to him, heart pounding. I didn’t plan to ask it, but I don’t regret it. Not when I need the truth this badly.
His eyes flick to mine, then away. Just a brief crack in his composure. In that hesitation, I understand what he doesn’t want to say.
“There was something else,” he admits, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “Watching you.”
A chill slides down my spine. I swallow hard. “I had a feeling. I thought I felt something.”
“You did,” he replies immediately.
And the moment he says it, the air feels different. Sharper. More alive.
My breath shudders out. “What’s happening to me?” My voice comes out smaller than I want. His jaw tightens.
“You’re changing,” he says. “That night at the station didn’t just wake something in you. It marked you.”
“What does that mean? Marked me for what?” Frustration spikes through my voice before I can stop it.
He steps forward. Then another step. Slow. Careful. Like he’s asking permission with every inch until he’s standing just a breath away, close enough that I can feel his heat.
“I wish I knew,” he says quietly, eyes dropping. “I think it means the truth. And everything that comes with it.”
I don’t understand, but I don’t step back.
Every warning sign is screaming at me, yet something deep inside already knows this has begun.
And Lucien, whatever he is, whoever he is, is the only thing that doesn’t feel foreign in it.
The realization jolts through me. I should be seeing nothing but red flags.
Instead, I ask the question I’ve been holding onto.
“Where did we go that night?” My words rush out. “That place. It wasn’t here, was it? And are you even . . . human? Why did you take me there?”
The questions tumble out one after another. I don’t stop them. I can’t. I need answers before the moment passes and he disappears again.
Lucien’s gaze softens, but a shadow crosses his face. “Every truth I give you,” he says carefully, “is another thread they can follow back to you.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “Lucien, I think we’re past the point of danger. Whatever’s out there is already following me. Literally.” My voice cracks at the end, raw despite my effort to hold it together.
He exhales slowly. “Alright. You’re right.”
My breath catches.
“We left your world that night,” he continues. “I needed to get you out of harm’s way immediately, and the fastest way to do that was to warp you to my realm. My home.”
“Warp,” I repeat softly. “Like space travel?”
“Something similar,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “But not how you imagine it. It’s more like moving through the folds between realms. When we do, we leave energy behind. A signature.”
He pauses, searching for words I’ll understand. “A mortal’s energy is distinct. You vibrate at a frequency that doesn’t exist in my realm. It makes you noticeable.”
My chest tightens. “So someone noticed me?”
“The protectors of my realm felt it immediately,” he says, jaw flexing. “But it’s possible others did too. Ones who weren’t meant to.”
He doesn’t need to explain further. The memory of being watched earlier turns sickeningly real.
“So what do I do?” I ask, trying to sound calm. I fail.
Lucien steps closer, and I see it before he speaks. Not worry. Guilt.
“I’ll teach you,” he says quietly. “I’ll show you how to protect yourself. How to sense what’s coming before it finds you. It’s the right thing to do.”
I want to ask what that means, but the words don’t come. Everything feels different now. Inside me. Around me.
“But they know this world exists, right?” I ask. “These beings. Why would they care? And why me? I’m no one special.”
“Yes, they know it exists,” Lucien says. “And under normal circumstances, mortals from your world are of no concern to my kind.”
Relief flickers. Maybe they’ll forget me.
Then his gaze drops for the briefest moment before meeting mine again. Regret fills his eyes.
“It’s possible they’re watching you because of me.”
I blink. “Because of you?”
He nods once. The answer settles heavily between us.
“If they believe you matter to me, then they’ll act on that. That’s how it works.” He exhales through his nose, eyes dropping as if he can’t bring himself to look at me.
“They don’t need facts. They don’t need proof. Just the idea that you mean something to me—that’s enough. That’s enough to put you in danger.”
I narrow my eyes, confused. “But . . . I don’t understand. Why would that—”
“I hold a certain position in my realm,” Lucien says, his voice soft but firm, combined with some sense of duty. “And anyone they believe is close to me becomes leverage.”
The words hit all at once. My breathing turns shallow. “So they’ll use me. To get to you.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t have powers,” I say, voice shaking now. “I’m not trained for this. I’m just trying to survive my inbox and make rent and pretend everything’s fine when most days, I can’t even convince myself of it.”
I turn away from him, sinking onto the couch before my knees give out.
I rest my hands on my thighs, fingers digging into my denim jeans like I’m trying to hold myself in place.
“And now I’m being followed by things I don’t understand, dragged into a world I never asked to see.
I don’t know how to be in this. I’m way over my head.
” Everything feels too big. Too fast. Far beyond anything I know how to carry.
“I’m sorry, Cece.” It comes out sincere but offers no comfort. “I won’t let you face this alone.”
The way he says it—confident and centered, as if it’s already decided—calms the panic in my chest. Even if only a little. But the thoughts keep coming, tumbling one over another.
“What does that even mean?” I ask, staring at the floor. “Do I run? Disappear? What about the people in my life? What happens if they get hurt because of me?”
“I don’t have all the answers,” he says after a moment. “But I’ll help you. That’s what I was trained for.”
His words should terrify me. Instead, exhaustion crashes over me as the adrenaline fades, leaving me raw and breakable.
“I think I need to rest. I need to just try to process everything.”
“Of course.”
He turns toward the window, and something about the motion, the distance it puts between us, sends an icy wave through me.
“Wait!” The words leave me too fast, full of panic. “You’re not leaving, are you?” I hate how needy I sound. But I don’t take it back. I can’t be alone with this. Not now.
He stops and turns back. In the half-light, his eyes look impossibly old.
“No,” he says without hesitation. “You’re not alone tonight. I’ll keep watch.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, standing on unsteady legs. I don’t ask what that means for him. I can’t ask anything else tonight. “Help yourself if you need anything.”
I retreat to my bedroom, slip beneath the covers, and feel the cool sheets against my skin. I curl into myself, holding onto the comfort of the moment, because it’s the only thing that feels remotely normal right now.
My feet strike the pavement at an even pace, yet each step feels strangely exaggerated, like I’m wading through quicksand, forcing one foot free only to drag the other forward. The effort demands more than I have to give. Fatigue creeps in, and I begin to slow.
Then, without warning, the sun plummets from the sky and the moon rises to take its place. Air brushes against my face. Sweat runs down my back. Still, something feels off. The sky splits open, and rain pours down in relentless sheets. How is this happening?
I’m running down the street, desperate to make it home before I’m soaked any further, rain clinging heavy to my clothes. Still, I can feel it. That eerie awareness of being watched.
I glance toward the corner. The streetlight spills pale light into the mouth of the alley, revealing nothing but slick pavement and shadows. No one’s there.
But the feeling doesn’t fade.
I can feel them. I can feel him. A presence looming over me.
At the far end of the street, Lucien appears, calling out to me. The rain swallows most of his voice, the wind twisting what remains. I strain forward, lengthening my stride, chasing the promise of safety he represents, but I’m too slow. The watching presence draws closer, heavier than before.
Then—movement.
In the alley that had been empty moments ago, something emerges from the dark. A figure? Something else? I slow, squinting into the dim light, straining to make sense of it. My pulse hammers in my ears. And finally, Lucien’s voice cuts through clearly.
“Surgers!”
I jerk awake with a gasp, dragging in air as if I’ve sprinted miles. My hands twist into the sheets, grasping for stability. My skin is damp with sweat; my heart beating hard against my ribs.
A dream. All of this, everything that’s happening, must be stirring this up. It reminds me of the strange dreams I used to have when I was younger—the kind that felt vivid and real, yet impossible to piece together in any logical way.
I look over in the darkness and catch the faint strip of light glowing beneath my bedroom door. Lucien is still in the living room. The thought calms me. I sink back into the pillow, pulling my blanket close for comfort.
As my eyes drift closed again, one final thought lingers—an odd one.
I should feel afraid right now. But I don’t. And for tonight, that has to be enough.