Chapter 13 · Blood on the Ledger

"Who the hell are you really, Lucian?"

Vesper didn't ask. She snarled it. The words hit the small, dim space of the safehouse like a physical blow. She didn't wait for an answer. In one fluid, violent motion, she slammed a jagged, blood-slicked blade onto the armrest of Lucian's wheelchair.

The metal shrieked. A single drop of dark crimson smeared across the polished black leather, inches from Lucian's pale hand.

Lucian didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the knife. He kept his eyes on the ledger, his long fingers tracing the ink of the High Inquisitor's seal.

"You’re shaking," he noted. His voice was a low, steady hum, devoid of the panic Vesper was radiating. "It’s a bad look for an enforcer, Vesper. Unprofessional."

"Don't give me that corporate bullshit!" Vesper leaned in, her face inches from his. He could smell the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of rain clinging to her leather jacket. She gripped the armrest, her knuckles white, pinning him into the chair. "Those men in the warehouse... they didn't just surrender. They were terrified. I've seen fear, Lucian. I've lived it. But that?