Between Shadows

Circular Logic

Evelyn woke before the alarm.

For the first time in weeks, the air felt calm, still in a way that didn’t press. There was no whisper of water in her ears or choking. No ghost watched her sink to the depths. The hotel was quiet, and the quiet was kind.

She lay there for a few slow breaths, expecting the heaviness to return. Her muscles felt unstrung and weightless, as though she’d finally surfaced from something. Perhaps it was the bourbon, or the exhaustion finally giving in.

The curtains were cracked just enough for morning to slip through, a muted gold diffused by fog. She dressed without hurry, pulling on her cardigan and the same scarf she’d worn to dinner with Lorian. The scent of bourbon still clung to her sleeve.

As she reached the elevator, she hesitated only once before taking the stairs instead. The smell of old wood and cinnamon drifted up from the lobby. It felt like the Filigree itself was trying to make peace.

Then she saw them.

Lorian looked annoyingly awake, his hair parted neatly to one side, his shirt more wrinkle-free than she’d seen it since their first meeting. But his eyes carried the faint red edge of someone who hadn’t slept enough. He stood talking to a man she wasn’t supposed to see, a figure who belonged to another century.

Silas.

He looked just as he had in her dreams—the dark coat, the silver glint in his eyes, that disarming smile. He was turned toward Lorian, expression softened, almost fond. The gentleness between them didn’t match the stories in the letters. She couldn’t reconcile the man she’d read with the one standing there.

Lorian was speaking quietly, holding two coffees with a file tucked under his arm. He seemed lighter somehow. The tension that usually carved into his shoulders had smoothed away. They were close enough that she could overhear the end of their conversation as she descended the last flight of stairs.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lorian said, the way one might speak to a storm that refused to pass.

“And yet,” Silas replied, low and smooth, “you’re smiling.” A moment’s hesitation. “I’ll be back later. Please, stick to the archive today. You’re supposed to be keeping her safe.”

Lorian’s mouth twitched—guilty, tired, but it was a smile. Evelyn couldn’t look away. The light from the windows turned Silas’s hair a faint red-gold, and for one moment, he seemed impossibly ordinary.

Then, Silas glanced up. His expression was colder, probing, almost enough to make her think he hadn’t recognised her. He stepped back, hand brushing Lorian’s sleeve in a silent warning. The motion was small, but familiar—possessive, protective, maybe both.

By the time Evelyn reached the bottom of the stairs, Silas was gone.

“Morning, sunshine,” Lorian said, offering her the second coffee. “You look...rested.”

She accepted it, wrapping her hands around the paper sleeve. “You’re in a good mood.”

“We’ve got ledgers waiting. And not that we’d want to venture down there again after yesterday’s surprise,” he said, voice lowering, as if he’d been caught, “but we’ve been barred from the sub-basement.”

—

Everything in the archive was exactly how they’d left it. There was still a sprawling mess of blueprints at the end of the table, scattered letters, and boxes of ledgers pulled off the shelves as an afterthought. It was silent except for a low, steady hum beneath the floor—too deep to be plumbing. Evelyn shuddered as she remembered the contents of the letter, but the morning left her warm and at ease. And the coffee helped, infused with cinnamon and cardamom.

She left her coffee on the table and put the letters in their box, nudging it against one of the shelves. The malice had started to feel personal, and she’d rather not have to suffer through another round of cross-referencing letters with city permits.

“So,” Evelyn said, slowly, drawing out the sound. “If he just looks scary, why are we suddenly barred from the sub-basement, again?”

“Safety precaution,” Lorian said, not entirely sure how to answer.

She paused. “A safety precaution…for the safety precaution? Make that make sense,” she said, impressed by Lorian’s talent for circular logic.

“Do you have to remember everything I say?”

Evelyn gave him a look. “Attention to detail is part of my job description—so, yes.”

Lorian took a sip of coffee as he slouched in a chair at the table, rubbing his temples. “Silas—” He caught himself. “He’s worried about that thing we saw. Said we should stick to the archive until he figures out a way to deal with it.”

“That sounds an awful lot like he’s keeping me on a leash. If he’s so worried, he can talk to me himself.”

“It’s not like that. I’m not his—“ He stopped again, as if about to be caught in the lie. “He said it’s not sentient yet. But if we give it too much attention, it could wake up.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Looked pretty awake to me.” The low hum she’d been ignoring finally cut through the quiet. It wasn’t the pipes—it was lower, rhythmic, like something exhaling through the walls.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

Lorian’s head lifted. His expression told her he’d been trying not to. He didn’t answer.

“So you’re back in his good graces?”

“I don’t know,” Lorian muttered. “He showed up at my apartment this morning, made it sound like it was just out of necessity. I still don’t have access, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then what was that?” Evelyn asked. “This morning, in the lobby—the way he looked at you.” She pulled out a stack of books and slid them over to Lorian. She watched him, noting the hesitation before he fell silent, fingers stilling.

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

She let the deflection stand. “We’re looking for anything from the early 1930s, when our Silas disappeared. No reports on his death, but everyone seems to think he drowned.”

Lorian ran a hand down his face before he set to work on the ledgers. He pulled on his gloves, running fingers along the bindings. There were no dates or labels on the outside of these.

Evelyn pulled out another ledger. “These pick up in 1934, shortly after the second round of renovations. Not sure if we should be going through these or the city permits at this point.”

She paused. “The resemblance is uncanny. He looks too much like the Silas from a hundred years ago.” She watched the tension creep back into Lorian’s shoulders, as if already ready to shut down her next question. “Bad time to ask?”

“Believe me, I want to tell you everything,” he said. “Truly. But you’re not ready for this mess.”

“I don’t need you to make that call for me.” Her voice lowered, almost cold. “I’ve tried respecting your boundaries, but I’m already in the middle of whatever this is.” She motioned to the ledgers. “I need to know, Lorian. What am I missing?”

“Silas,” Lorian snapped, finally. “It’s just—him.”

Evelyn tilted her head, slowly, dropping the ledger she held.

“He never went missing. He tried to sell his own death.”

A laugh escaped her, thin and incredulous. “Spell it out, Lorian.”

“You saw him this morning. Our Silas from a hundred years ago is still here.”

Pity edged through the disbelief. The ghost she’d been searching for had never left—just lingered where the world stopped looking for him. She met his eyes, half-expecting a flicker of a smile, any sign he was joking.

“What, like a ghost among the living?”

“Something like that,” Lorian said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He just let me come to my own conclusions, never would name what he is outright.”

“Okay, so what do you call him? You’ve already told me this much. Out with it.”

Lorian muttered something under his breath.

She tilted her head again. “You know I can’t hear you.”

He finally looked at her, and something in his expression gave her the answer before the words did. “He’s a vampire,” he said, his voice still low, as if whatever she’d been feeling beneath their feet might be listening.

Evelyn froze. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the word “vampire” or how easily it fit him. Ageless. Sharp. Something like compulsion. An elegance that wasn’t quite human. Her attention briefly flicked to their run-in with the operator. It hadn’t been elegant, but the animosity was a better fit for the intent in the letters.

She felt Lorian’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Truthfully, she didn’t know how to react. He probably expected her to laugh again. She wanted to, really.

Evelyn sat back in her chair, coffee cooling between her palms. “Okay,” she said finally. “He’s a vampire. Let’s say I buy that. What does that make you?”

Lorian looked at her, expression unreadable. “Exhausted?”

“That’s not an answer.”

He didn’t respond right away. He only reached for another ledger, opening it without looking at the pages. “You want a neat answer. But nothing about him—or this—is neat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re afraid of him.”

“I’m not. Right now, I think I’m more afraid for him.” Lorian dragged a hand down his face. “He’s not a monster. Not anymore.”

He shut the ledger and slid it toward her, effectively ending their conversation. “1932, the year they tore down half the neighbouring residential district to make room for nothing short of another hotel, an additional 180 rooms. They invited the residents to stay in the upper-floor rooms that didn’t get flooded.”

Evelyn frowned. “Where did you get 1932? There’s not a date here anywhere,” she said as she thumbed through the pages.

“It’s the biggest one in that box. Later in the year, they were operating at full capacity. New staff, renewed attention, new ownership.”

“Who took over?”

“Someone from the Linwood family.” Lorian shrugged. “Never gave a name. Won’t find many articles covering the transfer of ownership, either, since no one in the family contested the inheritance.”

“Meaning he never really left.”

“Yeah. He shut himself away, let the family run things in his absence. Mostly worked on the plans for remodelling the sub-basement floors—he wanted to bring the restaurant and ballroom back.”

“What happened with that?”

“He won’t say. It certainly wasn’t beyond him,” Lorian said. “Even after the flood, he had plenty of resources to rebuild the entire hotel if he needed to. But he talks like he lost everything that day. Why rebuild something that only serves as a reminder of that?”

Evelyn slid Lorian a financial ledger from the same year. “What’s this, then?” she asked. “All the renovation expenses are here.” She pulled another from the box. “And this one. This sort of spending goes on until…” Three more ledgers were stacked on top of the first. She pushed the stack toward him. “...1938. Six years of renovation expenses for sub-basement level floors and nothing to show for it.” She paused. “Unless we assume it’s all under our feet.”

Lorian stayed silent for a moment. Then, “You’ve seen what’s under us.”

“Not all of it,” Evelyn said. “We haven’t seen where that lift goes.”