CHAPTER 31
Evening draped itself softly over London, painting the city in shades of gold and muted blue. By the time Daph returned from work, the lights inside their little home were already on, casting a warm glow through the windows. The scent of something savoury wafted into the hallway as she closed the door behind her.
Viv, as usual, had not touched the stove — she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, reading an old travel book with Duke Pudding curled in her lap like royalty.
"Kitchen's yours, chef," Viv said with a playful salute, closing the book.
Daph rolled her eyes affectionately, tossing her bag onto the armchair. "Don't I know it. You'd survive on sugar and coffee if I let you."
It didn't take long for Daph to pull together dinner: roasted vegetables, garlic-buttered chicken, and a crisp salad. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, occasionally glancing at Viv — who had followed her in, leaning against the counter with a teasing grin.
When the plates were set, Viv emerged with her surprise: the entire Baumkuchen she had saved for Daph, the golden rings glistening under the soft kitchen lights.
"You made this just for me?" Daph arched a brow as she slid into her seat.
Viv's tone was light, but her eyes were sincere. "Of course. You're the only one I'd willingly share my best work with."
Dinner was a slow, comfortable affair — forks clinking, quiet laughter spilling into the corners of the room. Afterward, they settled back into the couch with slices of Baumkuchen that were far too generous for any sane person.
"This is ridiculously good," Daph mumbled around a bite. "What am I gonna do when I'm too full for the rest of my life?"
"Perish happily?" Viv suggested, her lips quirking.
They talked about everything and nothing — little stories from Daph's day at work, odd facts Viv had read, plans for the upcoming weekend. Eventually, the conversation drifted to the calendar.
"You know, my birthday's coming up in a few weeks," Daph said casually, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity. "What are you planning to get me?"
Viv pretended to think, tapping her fork against the plate. "A castle in Scotland. Or... a toaster that makes heart-shaped waffles."
Daph laughed. "I'll settle for something less ridiculous, thank you. But—" She tilted her head. "What about your birthday? It's still months away, end of November, right? Your first one... you know..." She trailed off, her voice softening, "not as an agent."
Viv looked thoughtful for a moment, then smirked, half-serious, half-teasing. "Maybe I'll get my belly button pierced. Match yours. Then we can wear a pair of matching rings and scandalise everyone at Christmas dinner."
Daph's laughter rang out, warm and unrestrained. "You'd actually do that?"
Viv leaned in, her tone low but amused. "If it's with you? Definitely."
The evening folded into quiet contentment — two people cocooned in the peace they'd fought so hard to earn.
In Newyork, Pen sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop open but forgotten. The house was still; the faint tick of the wall clock seemed louder in the silence. She had gone through the motions all day — lectures, polite greetings, smiles that didn't quite reach her eyes — but Clara Hastings's voice kept echoing in her mind.
"...two lovely British women, so kind... even bought us donuts..."
The photos Clara had shown her flickered behind her eyes. The curve of a jawline, a flash of auburn hair, the subtle way someone carried themselves — details that were burned into her memory from those long months in prison. Alexine Vause.
It wasn't just Alexine, either. The other woman — tall, poised, with an easy smile — was unfamiliar, but she didn't look like someone who just happened to be in the background of a tourist snapshot. There had been... familiarity. Presence.
Pen leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
Had Alexine been real at all? Or had "Alexine Vause" been nothing more than a mask?
If so, then who had she really been? And why, after everything, would she be wandering Switzerland with someone else... free?
Her nails tapped restlessly against the blanket. Each unanswered question pulled tighter on the knot in her chest. She told herself she wouldn't go digging. But her mind was already plotting the first thread to tug.
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