Lily ran her fingers through her hair, pacing a step to the side. "If he's coming for revenge, he'll come for me first. You don't understand, Lucien. He trusted me. And I sold him off like meat to wolves."
Lucien finally spoke. "Then I assume the person you want me to find has something to do with Oliver?"
Lily stopped pacing and stared at him.
"Because if that's the case," she said, her voice shaky, "I won't do it. I can't."
Lucien tilted his head, voice calm but sharp. "You just said you had eyes all over the city."
"And I do," she replied quickly. "But not for something that puts my life in the fire."
A tense silence fell between them.
Lucien sipped his drink again, unaffected.
"Are you refusing me, Lily?"
She swallowed hard. "If the person you want me to find is connected to Oliver… then yes."
Lucien didn't speak. He didn't argue. He just looked at her for a long time—until her eyes dropped first.
Then, in that same calm tone, he said, "That's unfortunate."
Lily's breath was shallow, her eyes darting around the room though she knew no one was close enough to overhear. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as she stood again, putting a shaky hand to the edge of the table.
"I said no, Lucien," she muttered. "I'm not doing it. Not this time."
Lucien sat still, his drink almost half, his gaze cold but calm. "You're letting fear talk, Lily."
"Fear?" she hissed. "That man will kill me. He doesn't care if I work for you or hide in the woods—he'll find me. You think the Alchemys can protect me? They're the reason he was imprisoned in the first place! They're the reason he'll come back for blood!"
She adjusted her seat a bit forward, hands trembling. "I betrayed him once, and he's the kind of man who never forgets. I see his face in my dreams, Lucien."
Still, Lucien didn't raise his voice. He didn't blink.
"You made a decision then," he said smoothly. "And you're alive now because of it. You work with the Alchemys—we made sure you kept your freedom. That you had this life, this café, this success."
Lily turned her face away.
Lucien leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"You may think you're running from something," he said, his voice soft but sharp, "but you're already marked. Whether you work with us or not, Oliver will still remember. What's been done is done. You said it yourself."
She said nothing.
"So tell me," he went on, "what makes more sense? To run and hope he never finds you? Or to stand with the only ones powerful enough to shield you from him?"
She shook her head. "You don't understand. He's not just anyone. He's not like other men. When he looks at you, it's like he sees everything. He trusted me. And I gave him up."
Her voice broke. "He'll come. I know it. And nothing—not your soldiers, not your blood rituals, not your fire symbols—nothing will stop him."
Lucien sat back slowly, face unreadable.
"Well then," he said, almost kindly, "if you're that certain of your death, what does it matter whether you help us or not? He'll kill you either way, won't he?"
Her eyes lifted to his—startled, breath caught.
"Why not make your death worth something?" Lucien asked softly. "Help us find who we're looking for. Do one last thing right."
She stared at him, tears brimming in her eyes.
"You're cruel," she whispered.
"I'm practical," he replied. "And your only way out is through us
Lucien's expression remained cool, composed—but there was a flicker in his eyes. A shadow. One Lily didn't miss.
She leaned forward, her hands pressed to the edge of the table, her voice low but sharp like a blade.
"You talk like you've got all the power in the world," she said. "But let's not pretend here, Lucien. You know exactly what Oliver is capable of. More than anyone."
Lucien's jaw tensed ever so slightly.
"You were his best friend," she continued. "Once. You two were like blood. He trusted you, and you stabbed him in the back just like I did—but for what? Jealousy?"
Lucien said nothing.
"Maybe because he was stronger than you?" she pressed. "Because deep down, you knew he was more powerful, more gifted than all of you combined? You didn't just betray him for duty. You betrayed him because you hated how much light he carried. And how much of it you couldn't touch."
Her words hung heavy in the space between them.
Lucien's fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle, but he still didn't speak. His silence said enough.
Lily straightened up, voice shaking now with a mix of fear and anger. "So don't sit there and talk to me about choices. About loyalty. You turned on someone who would've died for you. Just like I did. And if Oliver's out there now, free… we're both dead. Doesn't matter if I help you or not."
Lucien's voice finally returned, cold and deliberate.
"I don't regret what I did."
Lily raised an eyebrow, daring him to believe it himself.
"Then why do you look like you haven't slept since the night it happened?"
The two stared at each other in silence. Around them, the café still hummed in liveliness but unknown to them because they were drowned in their conversation.
Lucien stood slowly, smoothing his coat.
"You'll do what's best for you," he said quietly. "Whether that means helping us or digging your own grave. Just remember something, Lily."
She met his gaze.
"Oliver isn't the only ghost coming for you."
And with that, he turned and walked out of the café.
Lily stood there, the chill of his words sinking into her bones.
Lily said nothing more. After Lucien's exit, she turned stiffly back to the counter, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up the bottle she'd brought to his table. She wiped it clean, too many thoughts pressing behind her eyes, and forced herself to return to her work—though her mind wasn't in it anymore.
Outside, the morning air was hotter now. Lucien stepped out of the café, his long coat swaying slightly in the breeze. He walked toward a black, nondescript car parked across the street, the engine already humming faintly. He got in, closed the door quietly, and sat there for a few seconds, hands gripping the wheel.
Then he pulled out onto the road.
Lily's words kept ringing in his ears.
"Maybe because he was stronger than you."
"You were his best friend."
He gritted his teeth.
The memories came like ghosts from fog. Soft at first—then sharp.
---FLASHBACK
He was a boy again, no older than ten. The sun was high, and he was running through the dusty training fields behind the old river house with Oliver laughing beside him. The two of them had spent hours sparring—sweat pouring, laughter loud, bruises everywhere.
Oliver had been better. Stronger. Smarter. But he always helped Lucien up when he fell. Always.
"You keep swinging like that and you'll break your wrist," Oliver had teased, tossing him a flask of water.
Lucien drank, panting, grinning. "Then teach me how not to."
And Oliver did.
They were brothers once. In every way but blood.
---
Another flicker—years later, maybe sixteen. Oliver stood beside him, hand on his shoulder, guiding him through his first surge of raw power. A difficult time that almost made Lucien to give up.
"You're not weak, Lu," Oliver had said. "You just need to stop doubting yourself."
---
FLASHFORWARD: NOW
The present hit him like a blow.
Lucien gripped the steering wheel tighter, his jaw clenched.
"I betrayed him."
He remembered the moment. The betrayal.
He'd stood beside Luke, hands behind his back, eyes cold, heart twisted. Watched Oliver get dragged away in chains unconscious.
Lucien blinked hard, a sudden sting behind his eyes, and—
HONNNK!
And then—screaming brakes.
A man was crossing the street up ahead—headphones in, unaware.
Lucien yanked the wheel sharply to the side, his tires screeching as he just barely missed the pedestrian. The man stumbled back, startled, slamming a hand against the hood of the car.
"Watch where you're going, you idiot!" the man shouted, face red.
Lucien didn't respond. Didn't even look at him. He pulled over to the side, panting.
For a moment, all he heard was his own breathing. He leaned forward, hands on the wheel, head bowed.
Then, slowly, he sat back and exhaled long and slow. The flash of the past faded—just a little. His expression hardened again. Whatever he had done, it was done. He couldn't afford doubt. Not now.
He turned the wheel sharply, rejoining the road, and drove off—his destination fixed ahead: The Alchemys Chamber.
Where the future was waiting.
And where Oliver's shadow, whether they liked it or not, still loomed.