Page 96 of Eternal

AZRA

“Make It Rain” by Foy Vance

Present

T he music is soft, warm, and a little jazzy, not enough to dance to, just enough to keep the silence from being awkward. This whole thing feels like a show of alliance between the Zennites and the Lebanese, all under the same gilded roof.

Brian, the hacker Zanae told me about, has just finished her second cocktail and eyes mine.

“Every time you get a glass,” she says, pointing at me, “get me the same one.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Trying to keep up?”

She smirks. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

If you only knew…

Zanae leans in, a light laugh bubbling in her throat. “Same. I might need some catching up.”

“You?” I ask. “Aren’t you the Emira? Shouldn’t you be... composed or something?”

She sighs dramatically. “Since I became Emira, I haven’t sat still once. Meetings, orders, calls. I miss this. Drinks and music. No one is asking me to sign something or kill someone.”

Brian raises her glass. “Cheers to escapism.”

We clink glasses. It’s easy, this . Strange, but easy, like slipping into a memory I never had.

Brian studies me a second, tilting her head. “Those eyes of yours. That’s not contacts, right?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s real.”

Zanae blinks, smiling softly. “I’ve never seen that before. They’re... warm .”

“Thank you,” I murmured, it almost hurts to hear. “I used to hate them. One eye always felt like it didn’t belong to me.”

Brian hums into her drink. “That’s poetic and depressing. I approve.”

Zanae nudges my arm, grinning. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

She shrugs. “Sharper. Colder. I don’t know... more myth than person.”

I smirk. “I could say the same about you. Plus, I’m better at killing than talking. Doesn’t mean I don’t like talking sometimes.”

Brian lifts her glass again. “Well, tonight you’re drinking and talking. That’s good.”

I laugh. A real one. The kind that doesn’t feel like it’s stealing something from me.

Then I lean a little closer to Brian, lowering my voice slightly. “ So ... if I had a question about a pastor, you think you could help me locate him?”

“A pastor, huh? That sounds suspicious.”

“He’s from the Veil. Probably still operating in Vegas. He works at a private church, invite-only, and I don’t know where it is anymore, but it’s out there, somewhere, I only need to find him.”

Brian nods slowly, her fingers drumming the side of her glass. “Tracking locations is easy. Finding people... that takes finesse. But yeah, I can help.”

Zanae leans her chin into her palm, proud. “Told you. Brian’s the best.”

Before I can respond, someone steps into our little space, The Don, with a man trailing beside him. Tall, tailored suit, clean-shaven, blond hair, doesn’t look like he belongs to any of the families here.

His posture is quiet, but military. Strange .

The Don looks at me with that amused tone he always carries. “I told you someone was assigned to you from the Bureau.”

I glance at the man, who’s giving me a half-smile like we’re old friends.

He extends a hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

I shake it, firm, dry, and professional, but his eyes linger on my face.

The Don gives him a light pat on the shoulder, then to me. “He’s the one who handles your trail, especially international work. If your face slips, he makes sure it disappears.”

Zanae leans close to my ear, and whispers. “He’s smiling at you, you know.”

“I noticed.”

The Don waves a hand. “We’ll leave you two to talk. Try not to kill each other.”

They step away with a bit too much satisfaction. I turn to the man still standing beside me.

“So you clean up my mess?”

He grins. “Only when you leave one.”

“You make it sound like I’m sloppy.”

“On the contrary,” he says. “You’re efficient. Just... visible. Sometimes .”

I raise my glass. “Well. Thanks for the eraser work.”

He chuckles, lifting his hand to his hair. “You're more popular than you think, Voron. Even inside the Bureau.” Then he hesitates, for a small second. “You're even more stunning in real life.”

I narrow my eyes, sipping slowly. “You’ve seen the crime scenes, so don’t bother, I kill men for fun.”

His smirk returns, less flirting, more challenging. “You’re the one flirting.”

I roll my eyes, swat his shoulder lightly. “Not my type…”

I trail off, but notices, and he holds out his hand again, this time more casual. “Alexander.”

I take it briefly, then let go with a crooked smile.

“Still not my type, Alexander .”

I walk off before I can think twice, threading through the crowd, until I find the bar tucked into the far corner of the room.

The bartender doesn’t even ask, just slides me another of what I’ve been drinking. I take it, sip slow, and lean against the counter, letting the low hum of the room blur in the background.

Then, something made me move, flinch almost.

That pull in my stomach like something’s about to go wrong, that heat on my back, not a touch, but more of a presence, a familiar one.

I know it before I hear it.

That voice, comfortable, unwelcome .

“Green suits you perfectly, partner .”

My fingers tighten around the glass.

I don’t turn, I don’t breathe, I just feel .

Everything.