Chapter 21
2197words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Library
Early Morning
The morning sun spilled across the hardwood in slow, golden beams. Dust motes drifted like suspended thoughts, caught in the morning light. No footsteps echoed. No voices called. Just the low hum of the heating system and the occasional crack of the old building settling into winter.
Kristina stood by one of the tall arched windows, her shoulder brushing the edge of a velvet curtain. She hadn’t meant to wake early. The plan was rest—Maxim had made that clear. No training, no briefings, no missions. But sleep had slipped away, and sometime before dawn, she’d wandered here.
The library felt like it belonged to another century. High ceilings. Built-in shelves lined with thick-spined books. A quiet scent of cedar and old paper. No one came here without a reason—which made it perfect for someone trying to forget theirs.
Kristina ran her fingers along the edge of a book without reading the title. The movement was idle. Thoughtless. Her eyes weren’t focused on the shelves—they were watching the landscape beyond the glass. Stark trees. Frost-lined grass. A winter that hadn’t yet snowed but felt just cold enough to warn of it.
Behind her, the door opened softly.
Lucian didn’t speak right away. His footsteps were quiet, but she knew it was him—there was a particular cadence to the way he moved, deliberate without being heavy. She didn’t turn around. Not yet.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said, his voice low, still rough from sleep.
Kristina said nothing, but her posture shifted slightly, just enough to acknowledge him. He didn’t take offense at the silence. If anything, he settled into it like someone who understood the value of not needing to fill every space.
He crossed the room slowly and stopped a few feet behind her.
“You’re up early,” he added.
“I never slept,” she said.
He nodded once. Not in judgment. Not even in concern. Just acknowledgment.
A long pause stretched between them. Neither moved.
Lucian studied her profile—still, composed, but her fingers were tugging gently at the edge of her sleeve. Not fidgeting. Just... grounding.
He broke the silence, softly. “You’ve been quieter.”
“I didn’t realize I’d gotten louder,” she replied, without looking at him.
There was the faintest upward tug at the corner of his mouth. “You have. Not in a bad way.”
Kristina exhaled through her nose, barely a sound. Her gaze remained on the window, but her voice dropped slightly, touched with something more vulnerable.
“I think I’m afraid to stop moving.”
Lucian didn’t answer right away. He let her words sit in the air for a moment, then gently asked, “Why?”
She finally turned to him. Not sharply. Just enough for their eyes to meet. The answer was already there, in the look she gave him.
“Because if I stop... I might feel it.”
Lucian didn’t need to ask what it was.
Everything she’d carried. All the names that weren’t hers. The losses. The orders. The silence she’d wrapped around it all.
He nodded once more. Then stepped closer, close enough that they could share the same view from the window.
“You don’t have to run today,” he said. “We’re not asking you to be anyone but yourself.”
Her voice was quiet. “I’m still trying to figure out who that is.”
Lucian looked at her. Not with pity. Not with pressure. Just quiet steadiness.
“That’s allowed,” he said.
Kristina blinked. Not fast enough to hide the emotion that passed behind her eyes. But she didn’t look away.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Private Gym
The hum of fluorescent lights overhead was steady. No music. No orders. Just the rhythm of rope hitting padded floor—again and again.
Kristina moved on instinct—arms light, feet quick, breath steady. Her hoodie clung damp to her skin. She hadn’t come to fight or run. Just to move. To feel like she still could.
The gym was mostly empty. A few mats. A sandbag leaning slightly from yesterday’s impact.
But today wasn’t about force.
The door creaked open behind her, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t look.
Lucian’s voice came from the doorway. “I figured you’d be here.”
She slowed her pace but didn’t answer until she’d finished the rhythm. Rope stilled. Breath steady.
Then: “I didn’t come here to train.”
She dropped the rope and finally turned to face him. He wasn’t in work clothes—just a dark pullover, sleeves pushed up, hands bare. Relaxed. But still, he looked like someone built for tension. Even now.
Kristina grabbed a towel from the bench beside her and rubbed the back of her neck. “You checking up on me?”
“No,” he said. “Just... looking for quiet.”
That surprised her.
She gestured to the room around them. “This isn’t quiet.”
Lucian stepped in farther, the door shutting with a soft thud behind him. “For me it is. There’s no noise here that I don’t choose.”
Kristina studied him for a long second. Then nodded—slowly, like she understood in a way words didn’t quite reach.
He moved toward the far side of the room and sat down on the mat. Legs crossed, posture easy. Watching her. Not demanding anything.
Eventually, she walked over and sat beside him, towel still draped around her neck. They didn’t speak.
The silence wasn’t strained. It was heavy, yes—but in the way weighted blankets were meant to be. Not suffocating. Just real.
After a while, Lucian said, “You don’t owe anyone constant strength.”
Kristina didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice was even. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything else.”
“You don’t have to know today.”
Then her words came softer. “And tomorrow?”
Lucian tilted his head toward her, voice quiet. “We figure that out together.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Kristina leaned back slightly on her hands, head tilted toward the ceiling. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to just... be? Without any of this?”
She didn’t say what this meant. She didn’t need to.
Lucian exhaled slowly. “Maybe not all the way. But I think we’re closer than we used to be.”
Kristina glanced sideways at him, eyes thoughtful. “You ever get scared?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Only when it matters.”
“And does this—” she hesitated, “—does this matter?”
Lucian looked directly at her then. No guardedness. No hesitation.
She didn’t look away this time.
And for the first time since stepping into the gym, she didn’t feel the need to keep moving.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Kitchen
The smell of brewed coffee, toasted bread, and something slightly scorched greeted Kristina as she stepped into the kitchen.
Ash was at the stove, trying—and failing—not to burn another batch of eggs. Vex leaned against the counter nearby, arms folded, grinning as he offered unsolicited tips.
“Lower the heat, genius,” Vex said, watching the pan smoke. “You’re searing them like steak.”
“I like my eggs aggressive,” Ash shot back, squinting through the haze. “Adds character.”
Kristina slid past them, wordlessly reaching for the fire extinguisher mounted by the door, just in case. She didn’t need to use it. Yet.
Eli was already at the table, flipping through a folded newspaper, the kind no one read anymore. A mug sat near his elbow, still steaming. Sebastian joined moments later, carrying a second coffee and what looked like leftover croissants from some untouched boardroom meeting.
Lucian entered last. Dressed down again—gray sweater, dark jeans, no jacket. His presence was quieter than usual, but not strained. A glance passed between him and Kristina—nothing overt, just enough to settle something quiet in the air.
She sat at the far end of the table. He took the other.
“Breakfast is a team effort,” Ash announced, bringing over a pan of slightly crispy eggs and a tray of toasted bread. “Which means it’s not my fault.”
“You used four pans,” Eli pointed out.
“Art takes sacrifice,” Ash replied, unbothered.
“Mostly the eggs,” Vex muttered.
Kristina took a piece of toast, quietly passing the tray along. Conversation flowed around her like ambient noise—soft teasing, half-finished jokes, and updates about nothing urgent. For once, no one was planning anything. No operations, no rotations, no travel schedules or threat maps. Just breakfast.
“I forgot how quiet it gets here when we’re not running point,” Sebastian murmured, sipping his coffee.
Lucian looked up. “Not a bad thing.”
Sebastian nodded. “No. It isn’t.”
Kristina glanced around the table. The dynamic was different now—subtler. They still moved like a unit, still read one another’s cues without needing words, but the edge had softened. Not dulled. Just... recalibrated.
Trust didn’t need to announce itself. It just sat there, between plates and mugs and half-laughed stories, and made itself known.
Ash nudged a plate toward her. “Try the eggs. They’re only mildly criminal.”
She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
“They’re passable,” she said flatly.
Ash blinked. “That might be the highest praise I’ve ever gotten from you.”
Kristina didn’t smile. But she reached for a second piece.
Lucian didn’t comment, but a quiet curve of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. He met her eyes just long enough to let her know he’d noticed.
And she didn’t look away.
The others filtered out one by one.
Ash left first, muttering about the perimeter—though everyone knew it was to dodge dishes. Vex followed, coffee in hand, smirking on his way to the garage. Eli murmured something about rerouting comms and slipped upstairs. Even Sebastian nodded once and vanished, silent as ever.
Soon, only two remained at the table.
Kristina hadn’t moved. Her hand was still wrapped around her mug, the last of her coffee cold and untouched. She wasn’t really drinking it. Just holding it, like an anchor.
Lucian lingered across from her, the silence between them heavier than the morning fog rolling outside the windows. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Just... real.
He leaned back slightly, arms resting loosely at his sides. “You didn’t have to come down,” he said after a long beat.
“I didn’t want to stay in my room,” she said, voice low. “Felt like hiding.”
Lucian nodded once, slow. “So you didn’t.”
“I don’t like pretending I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Not with me.”
Another silence passed. This one was less sharp.
Her eyes dropped to the table again. “I’m still learning how to be here.”
“You are here.”
Her response came slow. But something in her posture shifted—barely. A breath looser. A line in her shoulders that let go.
Lucian stood, stepped around the table, and paused beside her. “Walk with me?”
She glanced up, and for a moment, her expression was unreadable.
Then she nodded.
She left her mug behind.
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | Estate Grounds
Late Morning
The path behind the estate curved gently toward the tree line, winding between trimmed hedges and skeletal winter branches that reached for the sky like bare, quiet sentinels. The frost hadn’t yet melted. It shimmered along the grass in pale, silver-green patches. Every footstep was softened by the hush of late morning.
Lucian walked beside Kristina—not ahead, not behind. Just close enough.
They didn’t speak for a while. Didn’t need to.
There was something grounding about the cold air, the quiet sound of their steps, the wind nudging through the trees in long, even breaths. The estate’s outer gardens were largely untouched this time of year, more wild than curated. Kristina preferred it this way.
“I used to come out here when I couldn’t sleep,” she said finally. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Before I was officially part of the team. When it was just... in between.”
Lucian looked toward her, but didn’t interrupt.
“No one ever followed,” she added. “I think Maxim told them not to.”
He let the silence stretch again, letting her fill it or not.
“I liked the quiet,” she continued, slower now. “But I hated why I needed it.”
Lucian’s voice was quiet when it came. “Do you still?”
“Hate it?” she asked.
He nodded.
Kristina didn’t answer right away. Her eyes tracked the tree line, as if the answer might be etched there instead. “I don’t know. Not in the same way. It’s not running anymore.” She glanced at him. “Not when someone walks with you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.
They reached the stone bench near the far end of the garden—weather-worn and flanked by faded hydrangea stumps. Kristina hesitated, then sat. Lucian joined her, a careful distance between them. Not distant. Just respectful.
A crow called somewhere in the branches above. The wind moved again.
“I was never supposed to stay,” Kristina murmured. “Not with anyone. Not anywhere. Even as a kid, I think I knew that.”
Lucian glanced over. “But you did stay.”
“Still not sure why.”
“I am,” he said, voice even.
She didn’t turn toward him. But she didn’t push him away either.
The quiet between them wasn’t empty. It held something neither of them had found the words for yet. But it was there.
It always had been.
She wasn’t made for stillness. But with him, she didn’t need to run.
—To be continued.
