Elena did not come to Lucien immediately.
That was a decision.
She returned to her apartment and stood for several minutes without turning on the lights, listening to the city through the glass. Somewhere nearby, a choir practiced the same carol repeatedly, voices rising and falling in disciplined optimism. The repetition irritated her. Not because of the song, but because of what it demanded. Resolution. Harmony. An ending that reassured.
Her phone lay untouched on the table.
We need to talk. Tonight.
She read the message again, then set the phone face down.
Lucien was used to controlling access. He moved within systems that bent toward him because he understood their geometry. Tonight, she needed to see whether he could tolerate delay when he was not the one directing it.
She pour
