Evening settled over Seviel like a velvet shroud, the sky deepening from gold to indigo as lanterns flickered to life along the marble balconies of the Praecia Veil.

Inside, music hummed. 

Soft strings, lilting laughter, and the faint clink of glass against glass. 

The air shimmered with perfume and smoke, thick enough to taste.

Cain descended the spiral staircase, each step slow and deliberate. His boots whispered against the polished stone, the hem of his coat brushing his legs. He wore green tonight; deep and dark, the colour of moss after rain. The shade caught the light, softening his features to porcelain; his eyes, beneath the chandelier’s gold, glimmered like rain-washed emeralds.

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

Cain found Claudia near the centre of the room, gathered with Esther, Eve, and Candace. Their gowns shimmered like oil in candlelight: blues, silvers, and rose golds, while their hair was coiled with ribbons and pearls. The four of them looked like painted angels.

“Cain!” Claudia’s voice carried above the din, bright and warm.

He smiled faintly, approaching.

Esther turned, glass in hand. “Cain, that colour really suits you,” she said, her tone half-admiration, half-envy.

Eve and Candace giggled, exchanging a knowing glance. They were smooth enough with patrons, but hopelessly transparent around him. They were girls who had 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 flickering toward the others. “Have any of you heard from Sorscha lately?”

Eve’s lips parted in mock sympathy. “Not since her confrontation with Madam.”

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

Esther rolled her eyes. “It’s not that easy, Candace. Nobody will pay for her while her face still looks like that.”

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

A hush slipped between their laughter, just long enough for unease to breathe. The chandelier above them swayed slightly, casting shifting light over their painted faces. 

Cain watched them gossip, bright and untroubled, and chose to remain silent.

Let them have their illusions.
He knew what became of those who stopped being profitable. Madam Lucinda had no use for sentiment, only numbers.

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

Cain excused himself quietly, slipping free from their orbit. He moved through the crowd with the languid grace of someone who’d learned that attention followed him whether he wanted it or not. Hands reached out as he passed. A brush of fingertips against his sleeve, a murmured greeting, but he kept walking. 

He was halfway to the bar when something caught him.
A stillness, a pause in the rhythm of the room. 

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, eyes following the room with languid 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. Smoke curled from his lips.

“Do you always make a habit of rescuing strangers?” his voice was low and measured.

Cain tilted his head, lips curving 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 the sharp lines of his face, the subtle confidence in his stillness. “I’m intrigued,” he said finally. “Most of the men who come here wear their wealth like armour, draped in jewels and gold thread, desperate to prove they belong. Yet here you are. Alone. 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 murmured. “I read people by their eyes. You can always see intent there. Mouths are deceitful things, but eyes... eyes tell the truth.”

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

Cain smiled, the kind that could cut glass. “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’s brow arched. “Oh?”

“I’ve heard whispers,” the man continued, voice steady, eyes fixed on him. “Of a courtesan with eyes like emerald glass and 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…” His smile deepened. “I can’t help but think this lamb bites.”

Cain’s laughter was soft, a breath more than a sound. “And what makes you think that?”

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

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

Cain let his fingertips gently graze the man’s sleeve. The man didn’t flinch. He only watched, dark eyes fixed and unreadable. Cain leaned in, voice lowering 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 beat of silence stretched between them.
Then came the faintest upturn of the man’s mouth. 

“I don’t buy,” he said quietly. “I take. When I decide it’s worth the trouble.”

Cain’s pulse stuttered, though his expression stayed composed. “And tonight?”

The man’s hand rose, deliberate and unhurried. He brushed a stray 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.
Sanding, flicking the last curl of smoke from his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. His exit was unhurried, deliberate, as though he’d already written this moment into memory.

For a moment longer, Cain didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the space where the man had stood, as though the air itself still hummed with his presence. Something about him, that quiet, deliberate confidence, clawed under Cain’s skin. It wasn’t arrogance that screamed; it was the kind that didn’t have to. The kind that made others shrink without a word.

Infuriating. 

What business did he even have coming back here? Sitting there in the corner as if he owned the room.

Cain’s jaw tightened as he poured himself a drink. He’d practically handed himself to the man, like a gift wrapped in silk and perfume, and still, Gabriel dared to flirt, speak in riddles, and then walk away. He could’ve paid, taken what he wanted, and left satisfied like everyone else did. But no. He had to linger. Had to look at Cain as though he were a question worth solving.

That look, those eyes that caught the candlelight like polished amber... They revealed something, but not enough. Cain hated that. Hated not being able to read him.

The memory of Gabriel’s touch refused to leave him, the brush of fingers behind his ear. It had been the gentlest gesture he’d known in months, and yet it carried a quiet promise of ruin. As though, if Gabriel wanted to, he could devour him whole.

He scoffed softly, as if to dismiss the thought, but his pulse betrayed him. 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. Gabriel didn’t want to be won. Cain wasn't even sure what he wanted.

“Still deciding,” Cain murmured under his breath. “How very considerate.”

Cain’s gaze swept the room again, back to the dim candlelight, the velvet walls that pulsed with quiet sighs, the clink of coins and glass, the low music that disguised the confessions and false affection. 

He smiled to himself. “Still deciding,” he repeated, this time as if tasting the words. “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 eager to mistake him for salvation.

Claudia and Esther had long since vanished, likely upstairs, earning their keep. Eve and Candace, meanwhile, had claimed a booth near the far wall, entertaining a cluster of merchants still giddy 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, her laughter spilling like champagne. Candace traced idle patterns on another’s wrist, feigning fascination as he boasted about trade routes and tariffs neither of them would ever understand. 

Those poor girls. Bright eyes, empty ledgers. 

They’d never received a proper education, never learned more than what the Veil had taught them to: how to smile, to flatter, to pretend they cared.

Cain smirked faintly. Business negotiations, he thought, watching them flutter between the men like painted 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. 

Young, eager, forgettable. 

He 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, merely 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 merely a place, but a state of divine intimacy, a world where love and knowledge existed without shame. When Adam and Eve reached for the forbidden fruit, that innocence fractured, and humanity was cast into awareness.