Marcus nods, but I catch the look on his face. The one that says he knows I’m making a mistake.
He’s probably right.
That evening, I make one more call.
“Julian.” Celeste’s voice carries two hundred years of complicated history. “This is unexpected.”
“I need information.”
“You always need information. What kind?”
“Damien Ashworth. Last confirmed location. Recent activity.”
Silence. When she speaks again, her voice is careful. “You think he’s surfacing?”
“Someone’s been running searches. Marcus thinks the pattern matches.”
“Damien’s been quiet for decades. If he’s making moves now...” She trails off. “Is there someone? Someone he could use against you?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
“Julian.” Her voice sharpens. “Tell me you’re not doing this again.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re doing exactly what you did in Prague. And Vienna. And London. You’re letting yourself care about someone mortal, and Damien is going to—”
“I know what Damien is going to do.”
“Then stop. Walk away. Whatever this is, end it before—”
“I can’t.”
The admission hangs between us. Two centuries of friendship, and I’ve never said those words to her before.
“You can’t,” she repeats. “Julian, you’ve walked away from everything. Companies. Countries. People who loved you. You’ve always been able to walk away.”
“Not this time.”
“Why?”
I think about Poppy. The way she looked at me in her apartment, surrounded by her carefully curated life. The way she laughed when I read her cheat sheet. The honesty in her texts at 3 AM.
“Because she sees me,” I say. “Not the money or the mystery. Just me.”
“She doesn’t know what you are.”
“No.”
“And when she finds out?”
“Then she’ll leave. And I’ll survive it. I’ve survived worse.”
“Have you?” Celeste’s voice is soft. “Have you really?”
I don’t answer.
“I’ll get you information on Damien,” she says finally. “But Julian? Be careful. Whatever this is, whatever she means to you—Damien will find a way to use it.”
