Evening settled over Seviel, the sky fading from gold to indigo as lanterns were lit along the marble balconies of the Praecia Veil. Cain drifted down the spiral staircase, boots clicking against polished stone as the hem of his coat brushed his calves. He wore green tonight, and in the chandelier’s light, it deepened, his eyes catching the glow and flashing like emeralds.

He paused at the bottom, scanning the hall. The Praecia Veil was alive tonight. Its patrons flushed and smiling, with courtesans gliding between them. The laughter here was never quite real, but it was convincing enough to make men forget the outside world.

Cain found Claudia near the centre of the room, gathered with Esther, Eve, and Candace.

“Cain!” Claudia’s voice rose above the din.

He smiled gently.

Esther turned, glass in hand. “Cain, that colour really suits you.”

Eve and Candace giggled, exchanging a subtle glance. They were smooth enough with patrons, but something else entirely around Cain. They were girls who’d learned how to seduce, but not yet how to hide their youth.

“You all look beautiful tonight,” Cain said smoothly.

Esther sipped her sparkling wine, gaze flicking toward the others. “Have any of you heard from Sorscha?”

Eve’s lips parted slightly. “N-not since her confrontation with Madam…”

Candace frowned, twisting a ring around her finger. “I really don’t understand why she doesn’t just come back to work. She needs the money, obviously, or else she’ll need to find somewhere else to live.”

Esther rolled her eyes. “It’s not that easy, Candace. Do you think anyone will pay for her while her face still looks like that?”

Claudia’s smile faltered. “She’ll be back soon, though, right? How long does a black eye even take to heal?”

Cain watched them gossip, but chose to remain silent. He’d let them hold onto their illusions, but he knew what became of those who stopped being profitable. Madam Lucinda was a businesswoman, and businesses didn’t run on sentiment.

Shortly after, the laughter around him began to swell again. Candace had spilled her drink and was squealing in false dismay, while Claudia dabbed at her dress with a napkin. Esther had already drawn a man into their circle, her smile as effortless as breathing.

Cain excused himself quietly, slipping away. He moved through the crowd with the languid grace of someone who’d learned that attention followed him whether he wanted it to or not. Hands reached out as he passed, men murmured greetings, but he kept walking.

He was halfway to the bar when something caught him.

A stillness. A pause in the room’s rhythm.

In the far corner, seated apart from the revelry, a man watched.

Tall, blond, immaculately dressed.

He sat in the same spot again, cigarette unlit between his fingers as his eyes followed the room with precision.

Cain’s lips curved.

He moved through the crowd like silk through water and stopped at the man’s table. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, flicked his lighter open and held the flame to the cigarette.

The man leaned forward, lighting it with a slow inhale as smoke curled from his lips. “Do you always make a habit of rescuing strangers?”

Cain tilted his head, lips arching faintly. “Only the ones worth saving.”

The man’s mouth twitched, amusement flickering in his gaze. “And how do you decide who’s worth saving?”

“They usually tell me themselves,” Cain replied. “Without meaning to.”

A smirk ghosted over the man’s lips. “I see. And what do you make of me, then?”

Cain’s eyes traced his for a moment. “I’m intrigued,” he said finally. “Most of the men who come here are dressed in jewels and gold thread, desperate to prove they belong. Yet here you are—alone, and understated. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Appearances,” the man murmured, “can be deceptive. You shouldn’t judge a person by what’s on the surface.”

“No, not at all,” Cain responded. “I judge people through their eyes. You see, it’s easier to find their intent that way. Mouths are often deceitful, but eyes… they always tell the truth.”

“Perceptive,” the man said, leaning back. “I suppose you have to be.”

Cain smiled. “I’ve had practice. Though I can usually tell what someone wants before they even look at me.”

The man’s gaze lingered. “Then I suppose I’ve been unintentional with you this evening,” he said. “Your turn, little lamb.”

Cain arched a brow. “Oh?”

“I’ve heard rumours,” the man continued, eyes fixed on him. “Of a courtesan with skin like carved jade. They say one night with him could bankrupt a man, and he’d still call it a blessing. But after a brief conversation…” He smiled. “I can’t help but think this lamb bites.”

Cain laughed softly. “And what makes you think that?”

The man took a final drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and met Cain’s gaze.

“You told me yourself,” he said, “without meaning to.”

Cain let his fingertips gently graze the man’s sleeve. He didn’t flinch. He just sat there, watching. Cain leaned in, his voice sinking to something almost intimate. “You were watching me last night,” he said. “I thought perhaps you’d returned for what you were staring at.”

A moment of stillness stretched between them.

Then came the faintest upturn of the man’s mouth. “Little lamb, I take only when I decide it’s worth the trouble.”

Cain’s pulse stuttered, though he managed to remain composed. “And tonight?”

The man’s hand rose gently. He brushed a strand of hair behind Cain’s ear, fingertips lingering for a moment longer than they should have. “Tonight,” he murmured, “I’m still deciding.”

And then he was gone.

Standing, he flicked the last curl of smoke from his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot.

For a moment longer, Cain didn’t move. His gaze just lingered on the space where the man had sat. There was something about him, about his quiet confidence that clawed under Cain’s skin.

He’d practically handed himself to the man, and still, he dared to flirt, speak in riddles, and walk away. He could’ve paid, taken what he wanted, and left satisfied, like everyone else. But no. He had to linger. Had to look at Cain as though he were a question worth solving.

The memory of his touch refused to leave him. It had been the gentlest gesture he’d known in months, and yet it carried something else beneath it—as though, if he wanted to, he could devour him whole.

The man was an enigma wrapped in restraint, and Cain, who prided himself on knowing men down to the marrow, couldn’t read him at all.

Usually, the ones who played coy were easy enough. A few glasses of wine, a clever word or two, and they'd yield. That's why they came here, after all. But him? No. This man didn't want to be won. Cain honestly wasn't even sure what he wanted.

"Still deciding," Cain murmured under his breath. “Let's see how long your resolve lasts.”

With that, he rose from his seat, straightened his cuffs, and glanced briefly toward the staircase. The night was still young, there were other hearts to play with, other pockets to empty, and other men willing to mistake him for salvation.

༻𐫱༺

Claudia and Esther had disappeared a while ago and were likely upstairs, earning their keep. Eve and Candace, meanwhile, had claimed a booth near the far wall, entertaining a cluster of merchants still beaming from whatever lucrative deal they'd struck that afternoon.

There were five of them. Broad men with broad laughter, the kind who thought coin could sanctify sin. They toasted to profit, to conquest, to themselves, glasses clinking as the girls played their roles to perfection.

Eve perched on one man's knee, while Candace traced idle patterns on another's wrist, feigning fascination as he boasted about trade routes and tariffs neither of them would ever understand.

Cain smirked faintly. Business negotiations, he thought, watching them flutter between the men like moths. They talk numbers, the girls pretend to listen, and everyone leaves a little poorer.

The men likely didn't even hear themselves. They prattled on about their ventures, their "victories," as they called them, while the girls nodded in practised awe, none the wiser to the lives likely ruined beneath those boasts.

Still, Eve and Candace were impeccable actresses. They knew when to laugh, when to touch, when to feign that delicate kind of curiosity men mistook for admiration. They might not know how to read an account book, but they understood the mathematics of survival better than any merchant in that booth.

Shortly after, Cain entertained another patron.

He was… young, eager, forgettable.

Cain played his role perfectly—laughter at the right moments, glances that promised and misled in equal measure. Eventually, the man followed him upstairs, and the door closed behind them.

What happened inside was neither tender nor cruel, simply practised and efficient. When it was done, the patron dressed, kissed Cain's shoulder, and left without another word.

Cain washed, blew out the candles, and let darkness reclaim the room.

༻𐫱༺

Echoes of Eden: The Garden of Eden was the first paradise, the birthplace of innocence and the origin of humanity's fall. In biblical tradition, Eden is not just a place, but a state of divine intimacy, a world in which love and knowledge existed without shame. When Adam and Eve reached for the forbidden fruit, their innocence was fractured, and humanity was cast into awareness.