Lucien
Lucien left Mira’s apartment quietly, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song neither of them wanted to end. She had finally drifted off, curled around Caela’s journal like it might protect her from the weight of everything she’d uncovered. The glyphs, the bonds, the legacy—they were pressing in on her, and Lucien could feel it in the way she clung to sleep like it might stitch her back together.
He’d watched her for a moment longer, then slipped out into the hallway, the silence pressing in like a held breath.
Back at his own place, Lucien tried to settle. He showered, changed into something soft, something that didn’t feel like armor. But sleep refused him. He tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around his legs like vines. His mind kept replaying Mir
