Page 107 of The Light Within

Trois.“And, in case you still don’t understand basic French, which is probable: I love you.” Their lips met, tender and slow. Julien closed his eyes, enjoying the soft gasp that Cinn made, that he swallowed with his own mouth.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.

Julien pulled back. Cinn’s expression was so utterly stunned—dazed eyes, slightly parted lips—that Julien fought to suppress a bubble of delirious laughter.

“Now we’re even again. I know how much you like things to be fair.”

A smile slowly broke across Cinn’s face, his widened eyes softening into something more certain. He attempted to move away, but Julien clasped him against his chest.

“I love you too,” Cinn breathed into the crook of Julien’s neck. The warmth of his words had his heart bursting full of helium, lifting him skywards. The tether that was his fears and doubts snapped, the gravity of the world relinquishing its grasp on him. If there was one thing right now that Julien knew for certain, it was that this was a moment he’d remember for the rest of time. He pulled Cinn tightly against him, clutching him as though, if he squeezed hard enough, Cinn would stay right there by his side. Always.

The fire had grown so furious that it radiated a fierce, almost unbearable heat, and the thick smoke stung Julien’s eyes, but he needed one more kiss before they sprinted through the woods in search of civilization. Something to give him strength.

As their lips met amid the snowfall and swirling ash, he could taste the love pouring out of them and into each other—an unmistakable blend of desperation and devotion. It was their own brand of love, one forged in light and shadow. A gritty, relentless sort of love. The ride-or-die kind. Us against the world. The tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow sort of love.

twenty-four

Elliot

That guy was stalking Elliot again.

That one from the other day—tall, dark skin, velvety black hair. About as stealthy as a neon sign.

Today, he was once again demonstrating a spectacularly poor job of being covert.

Now, to be fair, Elliot had never trailed anyone himself. But he was fairly sure you weren’t meant to stand out in plain view, leaning against one of the stone columns that housed lumenmotes in its glass tip, looking like you were waiting for a bus.

To give some credit, the dude was at least pretending to study a crumpled newspaper, but his eyes kept flicking periodically towards Elliot, as if he was trying to memorise his every move while maintaining a facade of casual disinterest.

Right then. That’s enough of this shit.

Changing paths, Elliot walked right past the column, the very picture of nonchalance. Then, at the last second, he turned, ready to slam his arm against the guy’s neck.

The man stepped to the side, a fluid, swift motion that hinted at him having expected the move.

Elliot gritted his teeth, a frustrated growl escaping him. He reached out, but the guy effortlessly slid backwards. Then he shot Elliot a brief, amused glance before twisting around quickly to sprint down the narrow, winding passageway behind the Lunarium Observatory.

Elliot didn’t hesitate.

He plunged into the chase with quick determined strides, his footsteps echoing off the ancient brickwork and worn pavement.

The man ahead of him darted with an agile grace, weaving through narrow alleys and courtyards. His dark coat flared behind him like a cape, his black hair a wild streak against the pale stone walls. Although, he’d soon be no match for Elliot—his own movements were a blur of practised efficiency, each calculated to close the gap. He leaped over a low wall and vaulted onto a narrow ledge, propelling himself into the next alley with precision honed from years of athletic training.

The narrow passageways twisted and turned like a maze, forcing Elliot to navigate sharp corners and sudden drops with barely a moment’s notice. His lungs burned as he pushed himself faster, his legs pumping rhythmically over the uneven stone pavement.

The chase spilled into an open courtyard, its flagstone floor lit by the soft glow of street lamps. Several walkers gave a sharp gasp at the sight of them. The stalker skidded around a fountain, water spraying up in an arc.

Elliot saw his chance. A sudden burst of speed saw him leaping over the fountain’s edge, landing lightly on the other side and forcing the man to veer off his course.

He darted out of Elliot’s grasp, Elliot’s fingers closing to make a sad fist, as the fountain splattered him in icy water.

The chase continued, taking them zooming over one of the many temporary metal bridges across the giant crack, then past the Aurelia Library, the guy weaving in between the columns of the portico like he was performing some elaborate dance for Elliot’s entertainment.

This fucker is fast. Stupidly fast.

But hewastiring, at least—the man’s ragged breaths fuelled Elliot’s relentless determination, each laboured inhale pushing him to close the distance.

They’d travelled some distance—they were at the far edge of Auri now, with few light sources to illuminate the early evening’s darkness. In front of them lay Sylvan Glade, the small garden where the Verdant Conservatory grew some species of plants. Its sizeable pond boasted a grand bridge with high stone railings, and the man’s strides became uneven as he stumbled onto it.

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