The city was soft with rain—just enough to sheen the streets in mirrorlight.
Edgar sat in the back seat of car, his phone dark in his hand, ignoring a message from Arielle about some correction in the contract language.
He didn't want to go home.
He didn't want to go anywhere specific.
So when the driver asked, "Usual place, sir?"—he only nodded.
Le Prière was discreet.
A French-inspired bistro tucked between two art galleries on the quieter side of East Velaris. Soft lighting. No paparazzi. No background music louder than a whisper. No tables closer than six feet apart.
It had been his refuge, once.
Before Thornevale had become its own orbit. Before his name could silence rooms.
He stepped in without checking for a reservation. The maître d' recognized him anyway—gave a small nod, no announcement, no fuss.
Edgar was seated in the back, in a shadowed booth that faced the restaurant but didn't offer itself to it.
He hadn't even opened the menu when something shifted.
A glint of light on a wine glass.
The curve of a wrist.
A familiar stillness.
Lyra.
She was seated at a small two-person table near the window, her back partly to the rain-slick glass. Alone. A book open beside her plate. One hand on the stem of a wine glass. The other tapping notes into her phone.
Her expression was unreadable. Not tense. Not sad.
Just… present.
She didn't look like someone waiting for company. She looked like someone who chose the silence.
A waiter approached her table. She glanced up, nodded once, offered a half-smile. Polite. Detached.
She didn't see him.
Not yet.
Edgar exhaled slowly and leaned back into the velvet of his booth. A flicker of something—unwanted, unnameable—moved through his chest.
He hadn't expected to see her outside the glass cage of the office. Out of the suit, out of the context. Just a woman in a city, alone with a book and a glass of wine.
She didn't look powerful or fragile.
She just looked real.
Too real.
He considered leaving. Quietly. Unnoticed.
He didn't.
He ordered a drink he didn't want. Pinned his attention to the low candle on his table.
And told himself this was nothing.
Just coincidence.
Just… parallel tables.
But across the restaurant, Lyra looked up.
Her eyes met his.
And for a moment—
They were the only two people in the world.