June's bar is packed tonight. Bodies press against the counter three deep. Music pounds through speakers mounted in the corners. Dorian and I sit in our usual booth, tucked away from the main floor.
"You landed the hit today," he says. "Clean strike. No hesitation."
"You let me."
"I didn't. You earned it." He lifts his glass. "To progress."
I touch my glass to his. The whiskey burns going down. Neat, to tame the hunger. Every pulse in the room hammers against my awareness. I force my focus back to Dorian.
"I'm getting faster," I say.
"You're getting better." His hand finds mine on the table. "Soon you won't need me in the ring at all."
"I'll always need you in the ring."
His thumb traces circles on my wrist. Heat pools low in my stomach. Before I can lean closer, June appears with a tray of empty glasses.
"You two need anything?" she asks.
"We're good," I say.
"Bar's busy tonight. Tourist season." She stacks glasses with practiced efficiency. "You staying late or heading out?"
"Staying," Dorian says.
"Good. Means I can actually talk to my best friend instead of just waving at her from across the room." June's eyes flick to Dorian. "No offense."
"None taken."
She moves to the next table. Dorian watches her go.
"She doesn't trust me," he says.
"She doesn't trust anyone with me. It's her job."
"Is it working?"
"Should it be?"
He leans back. Studies me. "You tell me."
Before I can answer, June circuits back through, checking on regulars, directing servers, keeping the machine running. She's good at this. At making chaos look effortless.
Dorian excuses himself. Heads toward the bathroom. The vampire body still functions like human, still needs to expel what it can't use. I watch him disappear into the crowd.
The waiter appears the moment I'm alone. Young guy, maybe twenty-five. He sets a folded napkin beside my drink without meeting my eyes.
"Guy came in an hour ago," he says. His voice is flat. Empty. "Told me to make sure you got this."
He walks away before I can ask questions.
I pick up the napkin. Unfold it. Lucien's handwriting. Still elegant. Still infuriating.
The diner on Lexington and 49th. Just us. I need to explain.
Dorian returns. Slides back into the booth. His eyes go immediately to the napkin in my hand.
"What's that?"
I try to fold it. Too late. He plucks it from my fingers. Reads it. His jaw goes tight.
"Where's the waiter who gave you this?"
"He left."
Dorian's eyes scan the bar. Find the young guy restocking glasses near the kitchen. "He was compelled."
"How do you know?"
"His pupils. The way he moves. Someone got in his head." He crumples the napkin in his fist. "You're not going."
My spine straightens. "I didn't say I was."
"Good. Because meeting Lucien is the stupidest thing you could possibly do."
"Is it?"
His eyes narrow. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"He's baiting you and you know it."
"It's public."
"Public means nothing to us."
I lean back. Cross my arms. "So now you control what I do?"
His jaw tightens. "This isn't control."
"You sound like my father."
His face goes hard. "I'm nothing like your father."
"Aren't you? Sitting here telling me what I can and can't do. Who I can and can't see. How is that different?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
"By treating me like I'm helpless."
"You are helpless against him."
"So I just wait?"
"Yes."
I laugh. Sharp and bitter. "That's not a life."
"It's the only life that doesn't end with you dead in that diner."
"You don't know that."
"Yes. I do." His hand flattens on the table. "I've seen this play out a thousand times. The outcome never changes."
"Maybe I'm different."
"You're not." His voice cracks slightly. "You're reckless and proud and you'll get yourself killed proving a point."
The words land like a slap. I stare at him. See the worry underneath the anger. The way his fingers press white against the wood.
"Okay," I say finally, exhaling. "You're right. It's a trap. I won't go."
He studies my face. Doesn't believe me. "Promise."
"I promise." I lean forward. "You worry too much."
"Someone has to."
June passes. Dorian flags her down. Orders another round. She nods and disappears into the crowd.
"Tell me about tomorrow," I say. "What are we working on?"
"Speed work. Reaction drills."
"You going to put me on my back again?"
"Probably."
"Good." I lean closer. "I like it when you do."
We talk training. I laugh at his observations. Press my knee harder against his. Watch his guard dissolve piece by piece.
Twenty minutes pass. Then thirty. No drinks.
"Where's our order?" I ask.
Dorian glances toward the bar. June is buried. Servers cluster around her shouting orders.
"She's swamped."
"We've been waiting forever."
"It's fine."
"I'm thirsty." I touch his arm. "Go check? Please?"
He looks at me. At the bar. Back.
"You stay here."
"Where would I go?"
"Promise."
"I already promised once tonight."
He stands. Heads toward the bar. I watch him weave through the crowd. Watch him reach June. Watch them talk, her gesturing at the chaos, him nodding.
I slip out of the booth. Move fast toward the side exit. The door closes behind me just as I hear Dorian call my name.
The cab takes fifteen minutes. I sit in the back seat and tell myself this is about closure. About ending things on my terms. But deeper than that, I know the real reason.
I need to prove I can handle this myself.
The 24-hour diner on Lexington smells like burnt coffee and disinfectant. No customers. Just staff. I take a booth facing the door. Order coffee I won't drink.
Lucien slides into the seat across from me at exactly midnight.
"Thank you for coming," he says. "I know you didn't have to."
I don't respond.
He launches into his apology. Says he panicked after the church. That Sabine got in his head, told him I'd expose them all. That he never meant for things to escalate. His hands spread on the table. Palms up. The universal gesture of surrender.
"I'm really sorry."
I watch him perform contrition until I get bored.
"Cut the crap, Lucien. You're not here to apologize. You're here because Dorian scares you."
His face goes still. The mask of remorse cracks down the middle. When he speaks again, his voice has lost all its false warmth.
"You always were smarter than you acted."