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Luna
Lucien stands like a storm barely held at bay, his arm outstretched, palm open in demand. There’s no amusement in his expression, no carefully controlled mask of boredom or condescension, just the raw edge of someone used to being obeyed without question.
Like hell.
I meet his glower with one of my own, lifting my chin, refusing to shrink beneath that ice-carved stare. “I packed what you told me to.”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t lower his hand. “Then let me see.”
A challenge. A test. Another power play disguised as concern.
I exhale, slow and sharp. “What, you think I left behind the mandatory ‘survive the Sub-Sins’ kit? Or are you just hoping to find an excuse to lecture me about preparedness?”
His jaw tightens. “I think you’re reckless.”
I smile, all teeth. “And I think you’re unbearable, but here we are.”
A muscle ticks in his cheek. He doesn’t move. Just stands there, arm still outstretched, waiting for me to cave. Because that’s what Lucien Virelius does, he waits. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or argue. He lets his silence weigh down on you like a command.
But I’m not built to bend.
Caspian, lounging against the doorframe, snickers under his breath. “Gods, I love it when she pisses you off.”
Lucien ignores him, his focus honed entirely on me. Something that makes my pulse beat a little harder. Something that feels like the edge of a knife pressed just beneath my skin.
“Bag,” he says, voice cutting through the room like a blade.
I let the moment stretch, a slow, deliberate heartbeat. Then, because I’m feeling particularly difficult, I reach for my satchel, pull it open, and upend the entire thing onto the table between us.
A controlled mess. Supplies spilling out in a cascade of carefully chosen essentials. Blades, rations, medical kits, a spare set of clothes, enchanted sigils, and an extra knife tucked into the lining.
I meet Lucien’s gaze as I cross my arms over my chest. “Satisfied?”
For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks down at the spread of gear, scanning with that cold, meticulous scrutiny of his. I expect him to find something to nitpick, some minuscule flaw, some missing element that would justify his presence in this conversation.
Instead, he exhales, sharp and quiet. “You’re learning.”
It’s not approval. Not quite. But it’s not the dismissal I expected, either.
Caspian lets out a low whistle. “Luce, was that almost a compliment? I think I just felt the world shift.”
Lucien doesn’t take the bait. He just flicks his gaze back to me, something unreadable lurking behind those pale blue eyes. Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door.
I let him go. Let him reach the threshold, let the air settle just enough before I say, “I don’t need you to check on me.”
He stills. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to leave. If he’s going to let me have the last word, let me believe I won this one. Then he turns, slow, deliberate.
“I don’t care what you think you need,” he says, voice low, even. “You’re mine to keep alive.”
And then he’s gone.
Caspian lets out a long, low breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Damn. He’s getting worse.”
I shake my head, shoving my things back into my bag. “No. He’s just getting desperate.”
I move to follow, but Caspian’s laughter halts me, low, indulgent, sliding down my spine like silk. “Adorable,” he muses, pushing off the doorframe, stretching like a cat that’s too self-satisfied for its own good. “You should do that more often. It makes Lucien’s eye twitch.”
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him again for good measure before turning on my heel, ignoring the way his laughter follows me.