Lucian sat alone on the inn's rooftop, watching the city below.
The fires had been extinguished. The streets were quiet again, as if the attack had never happened. The Wardens had cleaned everything up too efficiently, too precisely.
Lucian exhaled, rolling his shoulder.
The creatures that had nearly killed him just a night ago—they had been nothing to them.
Part of him was impressed.
Another part was… uneasy.
Because if monsters like that were nothing, then what exactly was he in comparison?
Not strong enough.
Not yet.
"You look troubled, thief."
Lucian's breath hitched.
The voice—smooth, confident, laced with amusement. Right behind him.
He turned sharply—and froze.
A woman sat lazily on the ledge, one leg crossed over the other.
She was gorgeous—wild and untamed, like she belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. Golden eyes gleamed with mischief, her lips curled into a knowing smirk. Her dark hair, streaked with a faint green shimmer, fell messily over her shoulders, framing a face that radiated power.
And yet, something about her felt… familiar.
Deeply familiar.
Lucian's fingers twitched toward his blade. "Who are you?"
The woman tilted her head, amused. "Oh? You wound me."
She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm.
"Haven't we been together this whole time?"
Lucian stiffened.
No.
That wasn't possible.
And yet—he could feel it now.
The weight of her presence. The same pull that the Book of Envy always had on him.
Realization crashed over him.
His voice came out lower. "You're…"
The woman grinned.
"Took you long enough."
She stretched her arms lazily, then placed a hand over her chest, as if introducing herself.
"I am Envy, dear thief. The real question is—"
Her golden eyes locked onto his, burning with something unreadable.
"Who exactly are you becoming?"