The morning light was a cruel, blinding blade cutting through the heavy velvet curtains of the Banks estate. Brenda lay in her bed, her hair still damp from the harbor water, her body aching with a exhaustion that felt like it had settled into her very marrow.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the barrel of Hardy’s gun leveled at her heart. She felt the phantom warmth of his cheek against her gloved hand.
Did he smell the perfume? Did he feel the hesitation?
A soft, rhythmic knocking at her bedroom door made her bolt upright. She hissed in pain as her bruised shoulder protested. She quickly pulled her silk robe tighter, hiding the black-and-blue marks left by the Scarred Man’s grip.
"Brenda? It’s Thomas."
Her heart did a frantic somersault. "Just a moment!"
She scrambled to her vanity, splashing cold water on her face and applying a hasty layer of concealer to the dark circles under her eyes. She grabbed a bottle of "nerve tonic"—purely for show—and set it on the nightstand. She needed to look like the girl he was worried about, not the woman who had vanished into the docks.
She opened the door. Hardy looked worse than she did. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled faintly of the emerald gas she had deployed.
"Tom," she said, her voice small and trembling. "You look terrible. What happened at the gala? I waited for you by the fountain, but you never..."
Hardy stepped into the room, his presence heavy and suffocating. He didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window and pulled the curtains back, flooding the room with light. Brenda winced, a genuine reaction to her withdrawal-induced light sensitivity, but he interpreted it differently.
"The docks happened," he said, his voice flat. "A tip came in. We almost had her, Brenda. The vigilante. Lady Luck."
Brenda sat on the edge of her bed, hugging herself. "The woman in the green? Did you catch her?"
Hardy turned, leaning against her dresser. He picked up a small crystal bottle of her perfume—the same one she had worn last night. He turned it over in his hands, his knuckles white.
"No. She got away. She’s fast, she’s smart, and she’s dangerous." He looked at Brenda, his gaze piercing. "But she did something strange. She had a chance to kill a man who was mutated by that Vane drug, and instead, she took him down non-lethally. And then... she got close to me."
Brenda held her breath. "How close?"
"Close enough that I could smell her," Hardy whispered. He walked toward her, stopping just inches away. The air between them was thick with a tension that was half-suspicion, half-longing. "She smelled like jasmine. And expensive silk. She smelled like this room, Brenda."
Brenda’s stomach dropped. She didn't look away. "A lot of women in this city wear expensive perfume, Tom. My father probably donates half the stock to every gala in town."
Hardy sighed, the hardness in his face crumbling into a weary sadness. He sat beside her and took her hand. His palms were rough, a stark contrast to the delicate life she led.
"I know," he muttered. "I'm just tired. I'm seeing shadows everywhere. I spent all night processing that monster at the docks. He was pumped full of a high-grade variant of the pills you used to take. It’s getting worse out there."
He reached out and gently brushed a stray hair from her face. His thumb lingered on her jawline. "I can’t lose you to this, Brenda. Not to the drugs, and not to this city. Promise me you’re staying inside. Promise me you’re safe."
"I promise," she whispered.
The lie felt like a hot coal in her throat. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. For a moment, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to show him the suit hidden in the floorboards and let him take the burden from her.
But then she remembered the way he looked when he spoke about Lady Luck—the disgust, the professional hatred for someone who stepped outside his law. He didn't want a partner; he wanted a porcelain doll he could keep in a glass box.
"You're shaking," Hardy said, his grip tightening protectively. "Are you having a craving?"
"A little," she lied. The only thing she was craving was the adrenaline of the veil, the feeling of the wind on her face as she leaped through the dark.
Hardy pulled her closer, his lips pressing a firm, protective kiss to her forehead. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay until you fall asleep."
Brenda closed her eyes, letting him hold her. She felt like a prisoner in her own bed, guarded by the man who wanted to save her soul and the man who was hunting her body.
But as the sun rose higher, the shadows in her mind only grew longer. The Vipers were still out there. Vane was still out there. And tonight, the "Luck" would have to be even better.
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