Chapter 26
Lucien
The moment we make our way to a watch point, I feel a slight ripple in the air. A tension under the surface of reality that doesn’t belong here. It’s something I can sense as a Warper. The veil is stirring.
I close my eyes, drawing in a slow breath. Xan’s steps fade behind me as he moves to begin decoy recruitment. I remain still, letting the ambient noise blur into the background. A dog barks down the block. Someone slams a car door. A faint buzz from the power lines overhead. All normal.
But beneath that, there’s something else. A stronger ripple. It pulses in an unfaltering cadence, like a heartbeat just out of sync with the world. Faint but erratic.
I reach into it. Not physically—at least not yet. Just sensing. Probing.
It’s like brushing the surface of disturbed water.
The veil is thin here, for just a blink, and then it seals over.
I mark the spot. Two blocks east. A subtle warp in space, not fully formed.
They’re not opening a portal yet, but someone tested the barrier.
Like a hand pressing lightly against a glass pane, checking for cracks.
I open my eyes.
They’re moving.
Or at least . . . watching more actively.
That means Cece’s power is waking up faster than expected.
I’m already walking, eyes scanning. The city sprawls around me in layers of texture, scent, and light—a mix of hot pretzels and diesel drifting between passing bodies.
Shadows stretch unnaturally at this hour, not because of the sun, but because something is pushing against the dimensional seams. It’s subtle, almost masked by the city’s rhythm, but I know how to feel it.
My hands spark faintly with electric energy. It coils at my fingertips, instinctive—a subconscious call to readiness. If something crosses through again, I want to feel it in my bones. Nothing gets close without setting off my alarm.
I round a corner and feel it again.
To the untrained, it would feel like passing through a cold draft, or the dizziness from standing too quickly. But to me, it’s a tell. Another veil flicker. Stronger this time. Closer.
They’re circling.
Not teleporting in yet. But reaching. Like searchlights on another plane, scanning for a signal.
For her.
I pull out a thin iridescent disc from my jacket—one of the Imperium-veil surveyors I took with me before we left.
I press it against the alley wall. It fuses instantly, humming softly as it begins passively scanning for energy fluctuations, sustained by the sacred stone’s power and the blessings of our realm’s elders.
It’s one of five I’ll plant in a ring around Cece’s general area. If they push through again, even a little, the surveyor will find the origin. I step back, satisfied.
One down.
A ping sounds in my earbud. It’s Xan calling.
“I’ve got two potential decoys,” his voice crackles, low and precise. “One’s a rideshare driver. Her schedule is nearly identical to Cece’s. The other’s a barista near her apartment complex. I can train them both.”
“Use the driver for now,” I reply. “We’ll rotate later.”
“Understood. What about energy readings?”
I glance at the sensor’s soft blue glow. “They’re poking. Testing the barrier. No breaches yet, but that won’t last.”
“You think they’re zeroing in on her awakening?”
“They feel her,” I say, voice grim. “She’s not cloaked anymore. If she shifts even a sliver of power unconsciously . . . they’ll find her.”
Xan exhales. “Then we need to move faster.”
I clench my jaw. He’s right. We’re on the clock now. Cece might believe she’s playing along—out at dinner with coworkers—but the reality is far from normal. Her abilities are likely to increase soon, and when they do, they’ll come through in force.
Unless we find them first.
I turn down another street, quieter this time. Houses line the curb. But there’s a flicker. A warp distortion in the reflection of a windowpane.
I stop.
Not just a ripple. This time, it bends. A visual smear, like oil across glass. I narrow my eyes, then summon a current from my hand. It dances across my fingertips and reaches into the warp.
Whatever it is recoils.
Something on the other side felt me touch it.
I smile coldly. Good. Now they know we’re watching, too.
I plant a second surveyor and mark the location with a faint static charge. If they return here, I’ll know instantly.
Back at our meeting point, Xan is waiting, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He’s found something, too.
“You felt it?” I ask.
He nods. “South sector. A momentary thinning. Like a door was half-opened, then slammed shut.”
“So they’re testing both sides,” I say, filing that away. “They’re looking for blind spots.”
“They won’t find any,” Xan says flatly.
“They’ll try.” I look toward the horizon, noticing the sun is already beginning to dip, casting long shadows. “But now we’re ahead of them.”
“Three more surveyors to plant?” he asks.
“Two.” I gesture with my chin. “You take north. I’ll sweep south. Once we finish, we shift into phase two and pressure them.”
I get out a message to Cece, then make my way toward the restaurant she went to.
As I round the corner, I sense her before I even see her. A familiar pull she’s always had on me. It’s magnetic, tightening in my chest. And even though it hasn’t been long, the rush of being near her takes over, urging my steps faster.
Then I see her.
But she’s not alone.
Daniel—her colleague, the one from the rooftop—stands with her. Too close. Familiar in a way I don’t want to see.
I can’t hear the words, but I don’t need to. Their body language tells me everything. The way he leans in. How her shoulders soften. The energy between them vibrates, and it hits me square in the chest.
Jealousy stabs at my gut, and my hands curl into fists before I can stop them.
I tell myself I have no right to feel this way, but it doesn’t matter. I do. Because I’ve never felt this way for anyone before. Never wanted someone the way I want her.
And wanting someone this badly . . . it terrifies me.
Vulnerability isn’t something I’ve ever been allowed. Not in my world. Not with the life I’ve had to live. So the idea that she might not feel this as intensely as I do—that she could turn toward someone else, someone safer, easier, more accessible—
That thought has the power to break me in ways nothing else ever has.
But I shut it down, hard.
Because something else has my attention.
There’s a presence. Faint, but definitely watching her.
I shift my focus, searching the outer edge of what refuses to come into clarity, the veil-thin barrier vibrating like a warning. Whatever it is, it’s close.
She walks toward the parking garage.
So I move too—cutting across the lot, slipping into the dark just behind her.
I watch as she slips into her car, shutting the door, nervousness radiating off her. A few seconds pass before I step forward and rap my knuckles against the passenger window.
“Cece.”
She jumps, eyes darting to me—then her expression eases. Relief flashes across her face as she hits the button to unlock the doors.
I slide in beside her.
“Did you see it?” she asks immediately, her voice low.
“I did,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. It’s not following. You’re safe.”
She exhales, tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay. Good.”
I nod once, then glance away, watching the dark blur of the parking lot through the windshield as she pulls onto the road. The silence stretches between us. I can feel her glancing over every few moments, waiting for an update, for a briefing, for something from me.
But I stay quiet.
“Luc,” she says, her voice softer. “You okay?”
She’s studying me when I look over, brows drawn, like she’s trying to read between lines I haven’t written yet. I want to brush it off. I try. But I’ve never been good at masking anything when it comes to her.
“I saw you and Daniel outside.” The words are out before I can stop them. My tone is calmer than I feel, which is good. “It looked like there was . . . something between you two.”
A pause.
“Is there?”
She goes quiet. I can feel her fingers tense around the steering wheel. The silence hums louder than the engine. Finally, she exhales and glances at me before turning her eyes back to the road.
“There’s nothing between us,” she says a little too fast. It doesn’t come out defensive. Just uncertain.
She pauses again, as if replaying the moment in her head. “At least . . . not from me.”
Her brows knit, and I can tell she’s searching for the right words, trying to untangle whatever just happened tonight.
“But something felt . . . different. I don’t know if it was him, or me, or both.
It wasn’t anything obvious. Just . . .” She trails off, fingers drumming once against the wheel.
“I noticed the change. I don’t know what it means yet. ”
She risks another glance at me, cautious now. “I wasn’t expecting it from him,” she adds. “And I did nothing to start it. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
I don’t respond right away. I just watch her. The crease in her brow. The way her voice dips when she’s being careful with the truth.
She’s being honest. That much I know.
And yet something tightens in my chest anyway. Not because he’s trying to move in, but because, for a brief moment, it seems some part of her had considered it.
“Okay.”
It’s all I say.
Her apartment is dark, the usual soft light from the kitchen left on like always, which feels familiar now. I lock the door behind us, out of habit more than need. Xan already swept the place before heading out. I can still sense the perimeter holding steady.
Cece kicks her shoes off and moves toward the couch, slower than usual. She’s been quiet since the car. Not the calm kind. The unsettled kind. I can feel it radiating from her in waves. I stay by the door for a second too long, which she notices.
“You don’t have to keep standing there like you’re a guest in my apartment and waiting for me to ask you to leave,” she says softly, trying to keep the mood light, but it falls flat.
I move toward the couch, sitting in the armchair across from her instead of beside her. I don’t know if it’s distance or defense. Maybe both.
She watches me for a moment, pulling her sleeves over her hands like she always does when she’s unsure. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she says, her voice muted. “Outside. With Daniel.”
I say nothing. Not yet.
She sighs. “It wasn’t planned. I didn’t even think he . . . I didn’t do anything.”
I nod slowly. “I know. You don’t have to explain it to me. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I want to.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes find mine in the low light, and she doesn’t look away. “It threw me, whatever that was. He hasn’t looked at me like that before.”
I swallow, trying not to let the words dig any deeper than they already do. She’s telling the truth. I can feel it.
“And I didn’t feel . . .” She cuts herself off, shaking her head before starting again. “I don’t even know what I felt. The whole thing was a little unsettling, if I’m being honest. And confusing. And I hate that you had to see it.”
That last part lands like a dull ache in my chest.
“I know it hurt you,” she says quietly, “even if I didn’t mean to.”
She stands and crosses the space between us before I can say anything. Then she kneels in front of me. Right in front of me, her hands resting gently on my knees.
“I don’t want Daniel,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. “Whatever that moment was, it came from surprise and confusion. Nothing more than that. It isn’t where my heart is.”
She shakes her head. “Let me rephrase that better. He isn’t where my heart is.”
I stare down at her, trying to breathe through the sudden weight pressing against my ribs. She’s so close. Close enough that I can feel her warmth. I can feel the truth in every word she’s giving me.
“It’s you, Lucien,” she says, her voice clear now, her eyes locked on mine. “I want you.”
I close my eyes, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the ache in my chest shift. It’s not sharp anymore. It’s heavier now. Deeper. When I open them, she’s still here.
Still looking at me like I’m worth something. Like I’m worth everything.
Her eyes pull me in the way they always do.
I don’t know if I deserve her. That kind of certainty. That kind of heart. But for once, I don’t care. Because I’ve run out of reasons to keep pretending I’m not completely, irreversibly gone for this woman.
And I’m a selfish bastard, because whether I deserve her or not, I’m not giving her up.
I reach for her hand without thinking, my fingers finding hers like they’ve done it countless times before. Her skin is warm against mine, drawing me in. My other hand lifts to her face, my thumb tracing gently along her jaw. I cradle her head, careful with every movement, and guide her toward me.
I kiss her—slow, intentional—like I’ve spent years trying to figure out how to do this right and finally have my chance.
When I pull back, I meet her eyes, letting everything I’ve been holding in show there.
“I want you, too.”
A moment passes, settling something I’ve been pretending I didn’t need.
She doesn’t look away.
And for the first time, I know wanting something this much isn’t a mistake.