“Charlotte chose,” he said finally. “Every day for six years, she chose to stay. Chose to build this network knowing it would bind us across death. She could have walked away at any point.” He gestured at the ledgers. “This wasn’t obsession. It was informed consent given over and over across thousands of decisions.”
“But I didn’t choose it.”
“You’re choosing now. Every time you show up for this investigation. Every time you push past my attempts to protect you. Every time you refuse to accept ignorance as safety.” He met her eyes. “That’s what Gideon doesn’t understand. Love isn’t the bond. Love is choosing to honor the bond every time it appears.”
Delphine worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “So what’s the plan?”
“I need to map the complete network. Underground pipes, water flow, mirror placement. Everything Charlotte built and everything Gideon’s corrupted.”
“And then?”
“Then I figure out how to stabilize it without playing into his philosophical or psychological trap.”
She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and started making notes. “The Archive has hydraulic surveys from the1800s. City planning documents. I can cross-reference water channels with Lacroix property records and give you a complete map by tomorrow morning.”
“Delphine—”
“Don’t.” She held up one hand. “Don’t tell me it’s dangerous. Don’t tell me I should stay away. You need this information and I can get it faster than you can because I know how archival systems work.” Her expression softened slightly. “Let me help. Please.”
He recognized a battle already lost. “Fine. But you work during Archive hours only. No after-dark research. No solo investigations of suspicious locations.”
“Deal.” She was already pulling ledgers toward her, organizing them by date. “Now show me those photographs again. I want to see exactly what the corruption looks like.”
For the next two hours, they worked. Bastien explained mirror mechanics while Delphine mapped Charlotte’s network against modern Quarter geography. They identified seven additional sites where water and glass intersected—locations neither of them had investigated yet, but where Gideon’s influence would likely appear.
The maps revealed something else. A symbol repeating across the intersection points, hidden in the way Charlotte had positioned her mirrors. Not obvious. Not something you’d notice unless you saw the complete pattern from above.
The Lacroix family crest, recreated in geography and glass. Two intertwined patterns—one angular and precise, one flowing and organic. Angelic geometry merged with human determination.
Charlotte’s declaration that some connections transcended cosmic law.
But overlaid on that pattern, visible only in the corruption data, was another symbol. Gideon’s sigil. Twisted version of thefamily crest, inverting its meaning. Where Charlotte had created synthesis, Gideon imposed separation.
Delphine saw it the same moment he did. Her pencil stopped moving across the paper. “He’s been rewriting her work.”
“For years, probably. Identifying each component, understanding its purpose, then carefully corrupting it to serve his philosophy instead of hers.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“I don’t know yet.” Bastien studied the overlapping patterns—Charlotte’s devotion turned into Gideon’s argument. “But I need to understand his complete design before I try. Otherwise I’m just fighting symptoms.”
Delphine leaned back in her chair. “You know what really bothers me about this?”
“What?”
“He’s using me as evidence in an argument I never agreed to participate in and honestly don’t know how I feel about. He’s making me the test case for whether soul bonds are real or just cosmic manipulation, and frankly, what happens to my soul is none of his business. I’m just now coming to terms with the knowledge I’m carrying Charlotte’s with me, and I don’t remember anything about her life we didn’t research.” Her hands flattened against the table. “I don’t appreciate being someone’s philosophical prop.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good.” She gathered the maps into a stack. “Then we stop playing defense. We figure out his complete plan and we dismantle it before he can use either of us to prove his point.”
Bastien looked at her—tired, determined, refusing to be protected from dangerous knowledge—and felt something shift. Not love. He’d loved her across three lifetimes. This was recognition. She wasn’t Charlotte’s echo or Delia’s successor.She was herself, making her own choices about risk and autonomy and what fights mattered.
“The vault,” he said. “I need to go back down. See how the collapse affected Charlotte’s original design.”
“When?”
“Tonight. After I’ve documented the network stability.”
