9
— • —
Mira
The morning stretched on after breakfast.
Percival insisted on cleaning the kitchen himself, which meant a lot of clattering and water splashing in directions. Lucian stood by the door, pulling on his jacket, watching Percy’s chaos, a man who’d long ago accepted that some battles weren’t worth fighting.
“We’ll be back by six,” Lucian said. His eyes found mine across the room. “I’m meeting with the detective this afternoon. Should have updates on Hudson’s movements.”
I paused. “You’re telling me?”
“You asked to be kept informed.” His jaw tightened, just slightly. “So I’m informing you.”
Warmth uncurled in my chest. After yesterday’s argument in his office, and our moment on the porch, he was actually trying.
Lucian Valdris, Mr. Grumpy and lord of emotional unavailability, was meeting me halfway.
“Thank you,” I said. And meant it.
Percy bounded over, still drying his hands on a dish towel. “Don’t have too much fun without us.” He winked at Solomon, who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. “Sol, don’t let her get bored. Play a board game or something. Do you know any board games? Do we even own board games?”
“Go to work, Percy.”
“I’m just saying you two can bond more.”
Lucian grabbed Percy’s collar and steered him toward the door. “We’re late.”
I watched them go. Percy’s easy laughter floating back through the open door, Lucian’s low voice responding. They moved together with an ease that spoke of years of knowing exactly where the other would be.
The door closed behind them and the cabin went quiet.
A strange feeling washed over me.
There was a flash at the edge of my vision, gone before I could grab it. The ghost of a morning just like this one. Coffee steam and easy laughter and the particular way Lucian’s shoulders relaxed when he thought no one was watching.
It feels as if I’d seen this before or lived it. Some sort of déjà vu. The certainty settled into my bones even as my mind insisted it was impossible.
Percy was easy to read. Open book, heart on his sleeve, emotions written across his face in letters a mile high. Solomon was quieter but honest, he was surprisingly direct. The silences said as much as the words.
But Lucian.
Lucian was a fortress. Walls within walls, gates that only opened on his terms. I’d spent a week in this cabin and barely scratched the surface.
Except yesterday, in his office, he’d let me in. Just a crack. Enough to see that the man behind the scowl was carrying something heavier than secrets.
And last night, on the porch, when my hand brushed his and he went completely still. When he looked at me with those storm gray eyes.
I was starting to see him. Therealhim.
Solomon pushed off the wall. “More coffee?”
“Please.”
He moved toward the kitchen, and I settled onto the couch. The cabin felt different without Percy’s chaos filling the silence. Smaller, somehow. More intimate.
Twenty minutes later, Solomon reappeared in the living room doorway.
