Lucien Moreau sat alone in his dimly lit study. The city skyline loomed like jagged teeth beyond the window. Tonight, routine was broken—not by a driver’s mistake or a delayed meeting.
Something else cracked the armor he’d built over years.
Lucien Moreau
[Thinking]
The accidental brush with that woman at the café...
No sanitizer. No itch. No panic.
A rare calm—terrifying in its unfamiliarity—settled over him. He hated it. Hated being vulnerable.
His fingers trembled as he pulled out his phone. For a heartbeat, he hesitated—then dialed.
Andrew Ramos
(answering)
You sound different. What’s going on?
Lucien Moreau
(quiet, tense)
There’s a woman. At the café. I... didn’t feel the usual disgust. Not even the slightest irritation.
Andrew Ramos
(pause)
You’re serious?
Lucien Moreau
(steady)
I am. Something shifted.
Andrew Ramos
(chuckling)
Only you would call me over a touch. What do you want me to do? Find her?
Lucien Moreau
(commanding)
Yes. Everything. Name. Where she works. Who she knows.
Andrew Ramos
I’ll start digging. Quietly?
Lucien Moreau
(hard)
Quietly. No unnecessary attention.
Lucien and Andrew grew up in shadows, bound by blood and silence. Andrew—tall, broad-shouldered—was Lucien’s mirror and his only unquestioned ally.
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