Page 19 of Black Castle

“Oh, hey,” she says.

Lucan hesitates, his throat dry. “Hey.”

“I didn’t know you were still in there.”

“I stepped out to make some calls,” he replies. “I ended up staying for long.”

She nods, then gestures to the space beside her for invitation. But he doesn’t sit. He shouldn’t. Instead, his eyes drop to the tablet resting on her lap.

It is a digital canvas. A work in progress.

She follows his gaze, then lets out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I’m, um, sort of a digital artist. Self-taught, by the way. Was doing it for fun before but last year, my friend convinced me to monetize my art.” She releases a breath. “So now, I commission them. Although business hasn’t been booming. Downside of being new in the market or something.”

Lucan doesn’t respond immediately. He isn’t sure what to say. But he thinks she seems really talented. And art shouldn’t be for free, so he likes that she listened to her friend. He also wants to tell her that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and that success won’t come easy. She needs to keep grinding, and believe in her capabilities and potential. Soon, the right audience will find her.

But he doesn’t know how to say those. So he keeps quiet instead and hopes she is good at reading eyes.

She doesn’t seem to bother that he isn’t responding. Her gaze has been redirected to somewhere else. She is staring across at the road behind. Watching cars pass by, as if expecting someone.

Then, realizing she has temporarily forgotten about him, her gaze flickers sharply back to him. “Sorry, I was looking out for my friend’s car. He was supposed to pick me up twenty minutes ago.”

Again, Lucan doesn’t answer. He has never had to talk to people other than his soldiers, the Avtoritet—the members of his Bratva—or his allies before. He doesn’t know how to have a normal conversation. What if he says something that isn’t right?

“Thank you,” he says instead.

She blinks. “For what?”

“For earlier.”

“Oh,” she beams. “It was nothing. I’m just glad I could help.”

He recalls her words from earlier. The one that has been churning at his mind since their encounter.

“Nice to meet you…again,” he rephrases and something flickers across her eyes. “You said that back in the hall.” His voice is quieter. “Have we met before?”

There is a small pause. Then she nods.

“It was two weeks ago.” Her expression shifts. “At Fitz’s Lit and Brew.”

Lucan stiffens. The name of the coffee shop strikes a cord inside him. That’s where he always has his coffee every time he comes down here. Except that two weeks ago, he wasn’t anywhere near Pennsylvania. He wasn’t in the States at all. But Zev was.

Zev.

Zev’s words surface in his memory.

‘Be careful in the States. Some fucker tried to kill me’

Realization snaps into place.

It wasn’t him she met that day. It was Zev.

His stomach coils, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his chest.

If she truly met him two weeks ago at Fitz’s Lit and Brew, then it wasn’t him he met. She had met Zev.

His other self. The other version of him.

Which meant Zev had talked to her. He had interacted with her.

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