Lucinda sat behind her desk, cigarette in hand, with a glass of whiskey resting beside a pile of untouched papers. Her dark hair, usually pinned in immaculate curls, had begun to fall loose at the temples. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and sighed. It was the sound of a woman who had seen too much and struggled to pretend otherwise.

A gentle knock broke the silence.

“Come in.” 

As Cain stepped through the door, concern briefly shadowed his face before he smoothed it away, pretending he hadn’t seen the Madam like this. 

“Oh, Cain, sweetheart!” Lucinda’s voice warmed instantly. “Are you feeling any better?” 

“I am,” he replied smoothly. “Thank you for asking after my health, Madam.” 

They exchanged pleasantries—the kind built on habit. She offered him whiskey; he declined. She offered tea; he accepted, black. The porcelain cup clinked softly against the saucer as she poured. 

Lucinda studied him for a moment before speaking again. “There’s something I feel the need to tell you, Cain.” 

He arched a brow. “Oh?” 

“I’ve been trying to keep this quiet,” she began, exhaling a long stream of smoke toward the window. “The man they found… the one near the gates. He was a frequent visitor here. A merchant named Caleb Arba.”

Cain responded gently, “Our patrons usually prefer to remain nameless. You know this, Madam.” 

Lucinda replied, “Of course, darling. I’d never expect you to know him by name."

Cain leaned back slightly, the faintest tilt of his head betraying his curiosity. “Then, what of him?”

Lucinda’s voice softened. “Apparently, she began, “his business dealings weren’t entirely… legitimate.” She tapped ash directly into a nearby ashtray. “And from what I’ve gathered, he was sent here with a purpose. To find out information about one of my courtesans.” 

“And let me guess,” Cain murmured, “that would be me?” 

Lucinda’s expression didn’t shift, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something. Concern, maybe, or possibly fear.

“So it seems,” she replied.

Cain’s tone remained light, but the air between them tightened.

“And what information,” he asked, finger idly toying with one of his rings, “could I possibly have worth uncovering?” 

“That,” Lucinda said, exhaling slowly, “I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.” She crushed the last of her cigarette into the ashtray. “Tell me, Cain. Do you remember this man?” 

He paused, weighing the question. “I didn’t see the body,” he said at last, “however, I have my suspicions about who it may be.” 

Her voice lowered. “Though I usually wouldn’t pry into your affairs, I must ask. What did he know?” 

Cain met her gaze evenly. “You can trust that he knew nothing of value. He boasted about his fortune, I laughed at the right places, and when he eventually ran out of words, I took him upstairs. If someone wanted information from him, they’d have walked away empty-handed.” 

Lucinda leaned back, her mouth curling faintly. “Good boy.” 

He smiled faintly. “Then may I be so bold as to ask, is there something I should know?” 

She exhaled a small, tired laugh. “No, sweet thing. I’m only trying to keep the Praecia Veil’s reputation from bleeding into the streets. Rumours are currency, and I’d rather bankrupt them before they grow legs.” 

Her gaze softened. “Still, I want you to be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you.” 

Cain’s eyes flickered for a moment before he rose. “Then I’ll take your advice, Madam.” 

As he turned to leave, her voice followed. “I’m serious, Cain. Please be careful.” 

Cain stepped out of Lucinda’s office, closing the door quietly. The latch clicked softly, a sound that seemed to echo too loudly in the stillness of the corridor. Candles lined the walls, their flames bending and trembling in the draft, painting long shadows across his face.

He stood there for a moment, motionless, feeling the weight of her words cling to him like the smoke from her cigarette.

Why does everyone keep telling me to be careful? 

Caution had never saved anyone here. Not the girls who smiled too sweetly, nor the men who paid for their warmth. He knew this truth well. Whatever waited for him beyond the next sunrise was already decided. By fate, by God, or by someone else’s hand.

None of their warnings mattered.

Control was a luxury that had never belonged to him. 

༻𐫱༺

Outside, the streets of Seviel were drowned in fog, rain weaving silver threads through the gaslight haze. Winter had come in full, and though the stones gleamed slick with ice, the city still pulsed with restless life. Inside the Praecia Veil, warmth held its own dominion: firelight and perfume, low laughter, and the soft clink of glass. 

Cain sat at the bar, absently circling the rim of his glass of water as he spoke with the bartender. The night was slower than usual, with fewer men and duller company. He was restless. Waiting always felt worse than work. Waiting made the evenings pass more slowly. 

He turned slightly, scanning the room for amusement, and that’s when he felt it: the weight of a gaze, the faint press of warmth against his shoulder, the scent of smoke and musk.

Gabriel slid onto the stool beside him. “What are you drinking tonight, Solaris?”

Cain didn’t look at him right away. “I don’t drink when I’m on the clock.”

“Is that so?” Gabriel drawled, ordering something dark.

“I like to have my wits about me,” Cain said. “For my own protection. And to keep track of all the lies I tell.”

Gabriel’s mouth curved. 

Cain lied beautifully, but when he told the truth, it felt indecent, like baring skin in a confessional. Gabriel felt that truth crawl over him and wondered if he’d just been seduced without a single touch.

“How much would it cost,” Gabriel murmured, his voice low enough to almost disappear beneath the music, “to give you the night off?”

Cain’s mouth curved. “You just want to get me drunk. Or maybe you came back to remind me that I’m in danger.”

“No,” Gabriel said, leaning in slightly, “I just want you to rest. You look tired.”

Cain tilted his head, lashes lowering. “Saying someone looks tired is just a polite way of saying they look like shit.” He smiled faintly. “And besides, you couldn’t afford it.”

Gabriel’s tone softened, almost coaxing. “That isn’t what I said.” He studied Cain, gaze tracing the faint tremor of candlelight across his face. “The fire in you… the one that dances when you’re toying with people. It’s dim tonight. You’re still beautiful. Just sharper around the edges.”

Cain snorted. “What a wonderful compliment.”

“Then let me rephrase,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “If I can’t afford your whole evening, may I buy a few hours of your time?”

Cain’s voice dropped. “What happened to the man who doesn’t buy?”

Gabriel’s smile ghosted across his lips. “Ah. That man’s learning restraint. Some things aren’t meant to be taken. Not without being burned for it.”

Cain hummed, a sound caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. 

Gabriel’s gaze lingered. “I didn’t plan this,” he admitted quietly. “But then I saw you, and a few things changed.”

Cain turned fully toward him now, studying him with a mixture of intrigue and defiance. “May I ask why you’re so insistent on this? You know what I am. Being tired isn’t new to me.”

For a long moment, Cain said nothing further. The space between them thickened, full of smoke and candlelight. He could smell Gabriel’s cologne again. It made something inside him ache, something he didn’t want to name.

He turned his glass in his hand, watching the light fracture through the rim. “You think I’m tired,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, “but what you’re seeing isn’t entirely fatigue.”

Gabriel’s brow lifted in silent invitation.

Cain’s lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “When you live in a place like this long enough, every look, every gesture becomes a part of the performance. Even exhaustion becomes a role. The trick is to make people want you, even when you don’t have anything left to give.”

Gabriel’s gaze held his, dark and searching. “And what if someone wanted you without the performance?”

Cain let out a soft laugh, though it trembled faintly. “That would make them a fool.”

Gabriel leaned closer, his voice a whisper that felt more like a touch. “Then consider me a fool.”

The words hit Cain like heat under his ribs. He shouldn’t have looked into Gabriel’s eyes just then. The Praecia Veil taught him how to read desire in every man who crossed its threshold, but Gabriel’s felt different. Like something that could unravel him if he wasn’t careful. For the first time in a long while, Cain had felt seen, and it terrified him.

Cain turned away, forcing a smirk. “Careful. Flattery is an expensive currency here.”

“Indulge me tonight, Solaris,” Gabriel said softly. “Once we’re alone, you’ll have all the power. Speak, stay silent, send me away, whatever you choose. Just let me buy you a few stolen hours.”

Cain exhaled slowly. “You’re very persuasive, Gabriel,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “Okay. But first, you’ll answer a question of mine.”

Gabriel tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. “Hmm?”

Cain leaned forward. “How do you know about the Praecia Veil being targeted? And why did you come to warn me?”

Gabriel’s gaze didn’t waver. “People talk, little lamb.”

Cain gave a short, humourless laugh. “No. You’re going to have to do better than that. You didn’t just stroll in here because of idle gossip. You came here for a reason.”

Gabriel’s lips quirked, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I already told you my reason,” he said. “There’s a courtesan who’s caught my eye, and the rumours swirling around his place of work had me… concerned. Think of me as your guardian angel.”

Cain scoffed, though the sound came softer than intended. “An angel? You?”

Gabriel smiled. “Stranger things have happened.”

Cain looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “If you’re my guardian angel,” he murmured, “then heaven must be running short on miracles.”

“Maybe it is.”

The next moment, something in Cain shifted. His posture softened, and the courtesan’s mask slid effortlessly into place.

His lashes lowered.

His fingers brushed Gabriel’s sleeve.

The room around them faded into the hum of music and laughter as he leaned closer, lips curving with mischief.

Cain’s fingers found Gabriel’s hand, guiding it to rest against the curve of his waist. A subtle tap of his foot parted Gabriel’s legs, the air between them tightening. He stood, sliding forward until the heat of his body filled the space, his breath ghosting against Gabriel’s ear like a secret.

“We have an audience,” he whispered. “I thought I’d give them a show.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched quietly, involuntarily.

Cain smiled up at Madam, watching from across the room. She gave a small nod of approval before turning away, her cigarette burning a train in the dim light. Cain lingered a moment longer, fingers trailing down Gabriel’s jaw. His thumb brushed over the man’s lower lip, just long enough to see the flicker of restraint in his eyes. Then slowly, he moved his hand down the line of his chest, and finally, he took Gabriel’s hand in his own again.

“Come,” he said softly.

༻𐫱༺

The Thread of Ariadne: When Theseus, prince of Athens, volunteered to slay the Minotaur, he met Ariadne, daughter of King Minos. Captivated by him, Ariadne chose defiance over duty and offered Theseus a simple tool: a thread of crimson wool. She instructed him to tie one end at the entrance and unwind it as he descended, ensuring he could find his way back after killing the beast.