CHAPTER 24
New York, late afternoon.
The city moved like a restless tide — taxis honking in staccato bursts, steam curling from the grates, the air thick with the smell of hot pretzels and rain that hadn't quite fallen yet. Lux Donnelly didn't belong to the chaos; she carved through it. Black wool coat brushing her knees, sunglasses shielding her eyes even in the shadowed streets, she walked like someone the world should part for. And, to some extent, it did.
The news of Alexine Vause's disappearance had landed in her mind like a drop of ink into water — at first small, then slowly bleeding into every corner of her thoughts. But Lux didn't chase ghosts without reason. She had no patience for dead ends. Which was why she was now threading her way through the Lower East Side toward a bar that smelled of stale beer and desperation, following a whisper she wasn't entirely sure she trusted.
Inside, it was dim and crowded, the kind of place where secrets clung to the walls like cigarette smoke. Her heels clicked against the sticky floorboards, drawing a glance from the bartender — a thin man with a once-broken nose and eyes that assessed her like she was both a threat and a paycheck.
Lux didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I'm looking for someone," she said, her voice smooth as velvet but carrying the edge of a knife.
"Aren't we all, sweetheart?" The bartender smirked, polishing a glass that wasn't dirty.
She leaned forward, letting the dim light catch the glint in her eyes.
"Tall. Blonde. Blue eyes. Goes by Penelope Prescott — or she's looking for someone named Alexine."
The smirk faltered. Just a flicker, but Lux caught it.
"Haven't seen her." He set down the glass, but his fingers drummed the counter — a tell.
Lux's smile was small and cold.
"You're lying."
He didn't answer, but the silence was its own kind of confession. And then, before she could push further, a voice slid in from behind her.
"I might know where your Alexine's trail leads."
She turned. A woman in her late forties stood there, leather jacket creaking as she shifted her weight. Her hair was cropped short, streaked with silver, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass. There was something about the way she watched Lux — like she knew exactly who she was dealing with.
"And what do you want in return?" Lux asked.
The woman's smile was slow, deliberate.
"Depends. How badly do you want to know the truth about your little... old prison friend?"
The words hit harder than they should have. Lux kept her face unreadable, but her pulse quickened. Whoever this woman was, she'd just stepped out of the shadows holding a piece of the puzzle — and Lux hated puzzles she couldn't solve.
The city outside roared on, oblivious. But inside that bar, the air between them had turned electric. Lux knew this was the moment — the one that could lead her to the truth, or into a trap she wouldn't see coming until it was too late.
At Café Shop.
The café smelled of burnt espresso and rain-damp coats, but Lux barely noticed. Her eyes locked on the woman opposite her — lipstick bleeding into the lines around her mouth, a smirk that spoke of secrets she wasn't in the habit of giving away for free.
"You said you have something... useful to me," Lux murmured, twirling the stem of her wine glass. Her tone was silk, her gaze a blade. "I don't like riddles. Name your price."
The woman leaned back, savoring the power. "It's not about money, darling. It's about... making sure it lands in the right hands."
Lux's smile was slow, predatory. "And what makes you think mine aren't the right hands?" She tilted her head, letting her voice dip — part invitation, part threat. "I'm very good at taking care of things."
A pause. The clink of the woman's ring against her cup. "What I have... concerns your little Alexine. Or rather—" she lowered her voice, "—the ghost of her step sister."
Lux's knuckles tightened around the glass. A step sister that didn't exist. This was confirmation — and a doorway. She pushed her glass away, leaned forward until her perfume met the woman's breath.
"Tell me everything," she said, soft as velvet, sharp as a razor. "And if you hold back..." Lux's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You'll find I'm much less pleasant company."
The woman spoke in a voice that carried the hesitant weight of someone who knew more than she should, but not enough to feel safe saying it.
"I don't know her real name," the woman murmured, leaning closer as if the walls themselves could listen. "But Alexine Vause? That's not it. Never was."
Lux's eyes narrowed, the faintest curl of a smirk playing at her lips. "Go on."
"French stepmother. Step-sister. Family dinners. All that sweet little story..." The woman gave a short, bitter laugh. "Pure fiction."
Lux tilted her head, studying the woman with predator's patience. "So what's the truth?"
The woman hesitated, twisting her ring nervously. "That 'step-sister' who came to visit her in prison... they were close. Closer than sisters. I don't know for sure—" she glanced away, as though the thought itself was dangerous—"but I think they were... together. A couple."
For a heartbeat, the café's noise dimmed under the rush in Lux's ears. Her fingers stilled.
A couple.
The word slid into her mind like a blade, cutting something loose and ugly. She leaned in, her tone deceptively calm. "And you're certain?"
"As certain as I can be. I mean, I didn't live under their bed, you know?" The woman gave a half-shrug. "But I've seen enough."
Lux smiled—slow, thin, lethal.
Switzerland — Evening
The cabin sat like a secret on the edge of the lake, its windows fogged with the breath of the wood stove inside. Outside, the snow-slicked pines whispered in the wind, but inside, warmth pooled in every corner.
Viv was curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, hair still damp from their swim. Daph knelt beside her, tracing lazy circles on Viv's bare shoulder, the smell of lake water and soap clinging to both of them.
"You know," Daph said with a grin, "you're a menace in the water. I'm half convinced you were trying to drown me."
Viv's lips twitched. "If I wanted to drown you, you wouldn't be here complaining."
Daph laughed — that open, unguarded sound Viv loved more than she could ever say — and leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth. Viv didn't pull away this time.
They spent the afternoon moving between the small kitchen and the couch, the kind of lazy intimacy that asked for nothing but presence. Daph stealing sips from Viv's mug. Viv drying Daph's hair with a towel, pretending not to notice when Daph slid closer, leg pressing against hers under the blanket.
Later, with the lake dark and moonlight spilling across the floorboards, they lay tangled together — not out of urgency, but because the thought of being anywhere else felt absurd. Viv's fingers traced idle patterns on Daph's hip.
"You're quiet," Daph whispered.
"I'm... happy," Viv admitted, voice so soft it was almost a secret.
And for once, she didn't try to hide it.
The day after in Switzerland ...
Sunlight spilled over the wide meadow, pouring gold over the cottage's stone walls. Inside, Daphne sat cross-legged on the old sofa, laptop balanced on her knees, green eyes scanning lines of code with the calm focus of someone used to problem-solving under pressure.
Viv, meanwhile, was in the kitchen... and it was going poorly.
A pot of tomato sauce bubbled ominously on the stove, threatening mutiny. The pasta had clumped together like it was holding a family meeting, and the garlic bread—meant to be golden—looked one minute away from cremation.
Viv stood there, wooden spoon in hand, trying to glare the food into obedience. "I make cakes that win awards," she muttered under her breath, "and this is the thing that defeats me?"
From the sofa, Daphne called, "How's it going, chef?" Her voice carried a teasing lilt.
"Perfectly fine," Viv lied without inflection. She poked the sauce again, reconsidered, then added more salt like it was an act of war.
When Daphne finally closed her laptop and wandered into the kitchen, the scene made her grin instantly. "Oh, darling..." She slid behind Viv, arms wrapping around her waist in a loose back-hug, chin resting on Viv's shoulder. "You're adorable when you're pretending not to panic."
Viv's reply was deadpan, but the faintest smile betrayed her. "I am not panicking. The pasta is panicking."
Daphne laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek before reaching over to rescue the sauce. The air between them was warm, easy—tethered in a way that made the quiet hum of the countryside feel like it could last forever.
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