Tyler's POV.
The penthouse of the Grand vixen Bar in Flensburg was an architectural masterpiece of glass and cold ambition, but tonight, it felt like an oversized cage. I had reserved the entire lounge, expecting a sharp, tactical victory drink with Fernanda.
But the text I received ten minutes ago was as clinical as a balance sheet: "Logistics for the 0400 shipment require my physical presence at the port. My time is better spent on the movement of product than on the vanity of a drink. We are partners, Tyler, not socialites. Don't get distracted."
I let out a short, dry laugh, tossing my phone onto the velvet sofa. Fernanda wasn't just business-minded; she was a machine. While I was looking for a moment of human connection after a high-stakes shakedown, she was already three moves ahead, counting crates in the rain.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the flickering lights of Flensburg. In this city, I was Tyler, the charmy and approachable Elliott. But standing here alone, the silence started to grate on me. I poured myself a double scotch, the amber liquid catching the neon glow of the city.
My mind drifted back to the Governor's office. I had used Lucas's methods blackmail, cold logic, the threat of total destruction. It had worked, but it felt different when I did it. For Lucas, it was breathing. For me, it felt like putting on a heavy, lead-lined coat. I was beginning to realize that the more I handled the ice King's business, the more the ice was starting to coat my own skin.
I sat in the darkness for nearly an hour, watching the fog roll in from the harbor. Just as I was about to head back to the hotel suite to sleep, a high-priority ping echoed through the empty room. It was the Shadow Net, the specialized monitoring system I'd set up around the Blackwood Wing's secondary perimeter.
I swiped the screen of my tablet. The resolution was grainy but clear enough. The man in the gray hoodie wasn't at the market anymore. He was sitting in a nondescript sedan parked at a dead-end street that overlooked the Blackwood north gate. He wasn't trying to get in; he was recording the patrol cycles of the guards.
"You're bold," I whispered to the screen.
I knew I should call Orpheus and have the man swept up, but I hesitated. This scout felt different. He wasn't moving like Damien's typical hired thugs. There was a discipline to his stillness. I pulled up his facial recognition scan, but it came back with a Redacted flag, a government or high-tier corporate block.
I felt a surge of cold adrenaline. If this wasn't Damien, then who was it. I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator. Fernanda might be occupied with work, but it looked like my night was just beginning. I didn't need a drink.
...
Beatrice's POV.
The library was silent, the only sound being the soft, rhythmic ticking of the old wall clock in the hall. I stood there, clutching the silver-framed photograph, my heart thundering in my ears.
"Julian." The name felt like a secret incantation that could unravel the very foundations of this house.
I looked at the young man in the photo, his eyes were so similar to Lucas's, but without the armor. He looked soft, perhaps even kind. To think that he was erased from the family history, buried under the weight of Lucas's Ice King legacy, made a cold shiver run down my spine.
I wanted to call Lucas. But as I reached for my phone, I stopped.
Aunt Patricia's warning echoed in my mind: "Lucas doesn't live with the past, Beatrice. He is a prisoner of it."
I retreated to my bedroom, the nursery sketches lying forgotten on the ottoman. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my slightly protruding stomach. "I won't let them erase you," I whispered to the silence. "No matter what happens, you won't be a ghost in a drawer."
My phone vibrated on the nightstand. The caller ID read: L. ELLIOTT.
My breath hitched. I smoothed my dress and answered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Lucas?"
"It's late," his voice came through, sounding deeper and more exhausted than I'd ever heard it. I could hear the faint whistle of the northern wind in the background. "I wanted to ensure that everything was okay . Tyler mentioned a... complication in the city."
"I'm fine, Lucas," I said, my heart aching at the sound of his fatigue. "Orpheus didn't let anyone get close. How is the meeting going?"
"The Old Master is... persistent," Lucas replied. There was a long pause, the kind of silence that felt like a physical weight between us. "The regional directors are being difficult. It will take the full two weeks, as I suspected."
"Are you eating?" I asked softly, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "And... are you sleeping?"
I heard a faint, dry sound, almost a laugh, but too bitter. "Sleep is a luxury the North doesn't provide, Beatrice. But I am managing. And you? How is the baby... are you feeling well?"
"He's active tonight," I said, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips. "I think he knows you're gone. The house feels too big without your footsteps in the hall."
Another long silence. I could almost picture him standing on a balcony in the snow, his charcoal coat wrapped tight, his face a mask of iron.
"I'll be back as soon as the signatures are dry," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Stay inside, Beatrice. Don't go back to the city until I return. I don't trust the shadows lately."
"I know," I whispered. I wanted to ask about Julian. The question was right there, on the tip of my tongue, burning to be released. But all I could say is "Be safe, Lucas."
"Always," he replied, and the line went dead.
I stared at the screen for a long time. We were two people trapped in a fortress of secrets, waiting for the spring that might never come.