“Hm, shame.” She yawns, bundling her blanket around her before climbing onto my bed.
We spend some time chatting. About nothing and everything. My mind keeps trying to wander off and I have to ground myself in the moment.
We’re laughing at a show when there’s a soft, measured knock.
Maeve glances at me. I nod once, and she rises to open the door.
Lucian steps in quietly. He’s dressed in the same dark coat, though his shirt is different today, crisp, collar unbuttoned. Like he didn’t sleep but still wanted to look composed.
His eyes land on me first.
Maeve gives me a quick look —you good?— and I nod again. She slips out.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he echoes, voice warm but cautious. He stays near the door. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Yeah,” I say. My voice feels a little steadier now. “Sit?”
He crosses the room to the chair Maeve left behind and lowers himself, elbows resting on his knees. Like he’s unsure how to bridge the gap.
“Are you alright?”
“I think so.” I hesitate, then glance toward the tray table where the phone rests. “I Googled you.”
His mouth quirks. “I figured.”
“There’s a lot about you out there. Security company, military, reward money. You’ve got… quite the reputation.”
Lucian nods. “Most of it’s true.”
“But none of it’syou.” I meet his eyes. “I don’t want the press version. I want the one real you. My… dad.”
Something shifts behind his eyes, a flicker of emotion that sharpens his eyes, then smooths away.
He nods once. Slow. “Alright.”
My hands fidget in my lap. “So… tell me something. Not about your job. Just… who you are. When you’re not being CEO Ashthorne.”
He leans back, humming and looking up at the ceiling. “I hate loud parties. I like to cook, but I don’t know how to make that many things. I don’t sleep much. I drink black coffee, usually too much of it.”
He pauses, then adds, “I still keep the drawing you made of a pirate ship. Crayons and finger paint. It’s in my office.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “It’s a terrible drawing.”
A startled laugh breaks out of me. “How old was I?”
“You were four.” He smiles, tilting his head. “You labeled the cannonballs. ‘Booms.’”
A giggle bubbles out. Lucian watches me like he’s memorizing this moment.
“You can ask me anything,” he says. “And if I don’t know the answer yet, I’ll find it. For you.”
I look at him. Really look.
“I don’t remember much. Just flashes. A warm place. A laugh. The sound of someone humming off-key.”
