Chapter 30 · Cracked Porcelain

"Give me one reason not to open your throat right here," Vesper hissed. The edge of her obsidian dagger didn't just touch Lucian's skin; it bit. A thin, crimson line bloomed across his neck, the blood hot and sudden.

Lucian didn't flinch. He couldn't afford to. He was pinned against the cold marble pillar of the Cathedral’s upper gallery, his breath hitching not from fear, but from the sheer effort of keeping his legs steady. He was standing. He was actually standing, but Vesper’s eyes weren't filled with relief. They were murderous.

"You were a cripple," she spat, her face inches from his. He could smell the ozone and gunpowder clinging to her leather gear, mixed with a faint, sharp scent of peppermint. "You spent months in a chair, Lucian. Now you're walking up the stairs of the High Inquisition like you own the place. Who are you? Whose legs did you steal?"

"Vesper, put the knife down," Lucian said, his voice low, vibrating against the blade. "We have three minutes before the perimeter guard rotates. If you kill me now, you're just a fugitive with a dead employer."

"I'm already a fugitive," she countered, pressing the blade deeper.