The Quarter moved around him with afternoon energy—tourists comparing restaurant menus, street musicians setting up for evening crowds, the humid air carrying scents of jasmine and distant rain. He walked through it without appearing in a single reflective surface. Shop windows showed the street behind him. Puddles from last night’s storm reflected buildings and sky. His passage through the world left no visual trace.
The Archive stood three blocks from his apartment, its iron gate propped open to catch whatever breeze the afternoon might offer. He climbed the exterior stairs and found Delphine in the second-floor reading room, surrounded by ledgers and maps that covered most of the available table space.
She looked up when he entered. “You look exhausted.”
“I a.m. exhausted.”
“When did you last sleep?”
He had to think about it. “Forty-eight hours ago. Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t a time.” She pushed a chair toward him with her foot. “Sit. Look at this before you collapse.”
He sat. The maps showed the Quarter’s historical development—street layouts from different decades overlaid on modern geography. Delphine had marked locations in red ink, creating a pattern that matched the photographs in his folder almost exactly.
“I started thinking about your mirror nodes,” she said, pulling one ledger closer. “The locations you’ve been checking for anomalies. They cluster around old Lacroix properties, yes, but that’s not the whole pattern.” She tapped the map. “These five sites? They’re all located where natural water sources intersect with Charlotte’s mirror installations.”
Bastien leaned forward. “Natural water sources?”
“Streams that ran through the Quarter before the city built over them. Drainage channels. Places where groundwater still flows beneath modern construction.” Her finger traced lines connecting the marked sites. “Charlotte positioned her mirrors to interact with water, not just light. The liquid amplified her reflection work somehow.”
He pulled the photographs from his folder and set them beside her map. Each image showed a different location—but when arranged according to the map’s geography, they formed the same pentagon Delphine had drawn in red ink.
“Mirror Current,” he said quietly. “Water that remembers what it reflects.”
“Is that a technical term?”
“Charlotte’s term. She theorized that flowing water could carry resonance between mirrors, creating a liquid network parallel to the glass one.” He studied the overlap between his photographs and her historical research. “I thought it was theoretical. Something she never actually implemented.”
“Well, she implemented something.” Delphine pulled another ledger across the table; this one filled with expense records from 1785. “Lacroix & Sons Mirrorworks purchased copper piping from a forge on Decatur Street. Eighteen separate orders between March and November. The invoices specify ‘water-grade copper with reflective polish interior.’“
“Pipes designed to carry both water and light.”
“Exactly.” She flipped to a page marked with a strip of paper. “And look at the delivery addresses. All five of your mirror nodes. She was building an underground network.”
Bastien reached for the ledger, but Delphine pulled it back slightly. “Before you disappear into research mode, tell me what you’re thinking. Because you have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re three steps ahead and planning to handle everything alone.” She met his eyes. “What does this pattern mean?”
He chose honesty. She’d earned it. “It means Gideon didn’t find a flaw in Charlotte’s design. He found the design itself—the complete network, including components I didn’t know existed—and he’s been systematically destabilizing it to prove his theory about soul bonds.”
“The one about love being manipulation?”
“Yes, that love removes autonomy. That emotional connection is just manipulation with better marketing.” He pulled the photographs toward him, arranging them in sequence. “He believes soul bonds are inherently coercive. That choosing someone across lifetimes isn’t actually choice—it’s programming.”
Delphine absorbed this. “And he’s using Charlotte’s mirror network to prove it.”
“Using you to prove it.” The words came out flat. “Charlotte designed the network to preserve connection across death. Gideon’s corrupting it to demonstrate that preservation is just another word for control.”
She was quiet for a moment, studying the maps and ledgers spread between them. Then she asked, “Is he right?”
The question surprised him. “What?”
“Is he right? About soul bonds removing choice?” She looked up, and her expression was difficult to read—not afraid, notangry, just genuinely asking. “Because from where I’m sitting, I don’t remember choosing any of this. I don’t remember Charlotte or whoever else I’ve been. I’m just living my life and apparently, I’m the linchpin in some century-old philosophical argument about whether love is real or just very convincing coercion.”
Bastien wanted to tell her she was wrong. That love was chosen, that every lifetime offered the chance to walk away, that what they had transcended any single iteration. But she deserved more than reassurance built on his perspective alone.
