The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

19. Cinn

nineteen

Cinn

A s much as Cinn hated flying, spending over ten hours in a car wasn’t particularly appealing, either. Thankfully, Maz was the fanciest car he’d been in—not that he’d travelled in many fancy cars—with a luxurious leather interior and motetech enhancements that heated the car in seconds, besides making the suspension ultra smooth.

They hit traffic on the way out of Talwacht. Julien clucked his tongue, then drummed out a tune on the wheel, humming.

“Hey!” Cinn could barely contain his excitement. Julien, singing one of his silly hip-hop songs? “That’s a song from the Wu-Tang Clan cassette you got me!”

Julien’s fingers immediately ceased their tapping. “No, it isn’t.”

Cinn cackled gleefully. “Don’t lie. I saw you miming the lyrics the other day.”

“Only because your headphones leak so much sound that I can’t help but hear when you’re blasting your music,” Julien shot back.

His defence was futile—Cinn was already taking the cassette out of his bag to pop it into Maz’s sound system.

“ Non !” Julien screeched, though a wide smile broke across his face. “Don’t torture me so!” His arm batted out to stop Cinn, but he failed, collapsing into laughter when the opening track came on.

Julien continued to moan for the duration of the album, but Cinn wasn’t fooled. And although it took much more persuasion, Julien eventually relented on his ‘no food in the car’ rule, to allow for Cinn’s chocolate-chip cookies he’d now perfected. The version of them with larger chunks, of course.

“Wait,” said Cinn, after six hours. “I just realised I’ve never seen you put fuel in Maz.”

Julien only shook his head and laughed, as if the idea was too outrageous to consider.

“You really don’t need petrol?”

“I do use some. But I only top her up a couple of times a year. The engine is a sophisticated design that converts ambient motes into energy.”

“But that’s great!” Cinn cried. “Isn’t that so much better for air pollution? Why haven’t we put this motetech or whatever into every car?”

Julien glanced at him. “It’s not quite that simple. There isn’t an infinite supply of motepower. It has to be converted before it can be utilised for technology. The conversion process is complex and requires a lot of specialised equipment. There are a fair few factories around Europe that create all the motetech products we use.” Julien drummed on Maz’s wheel. “My father now owns most of the companies,” he added, sourly. “Anyway, their output is still a drop in the ocean compared to the car manufacturing industry, for example. There simply aren’t enough resources.”

“Right,” Cinn said slowly.

“One thing that’s helped this past decade is the invention of motecells. I’ve told you about them before. You know, a bit like a battery for motetech? Far more advanced, of course. They’re everywhere now. They power the majority of motetech.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cinn stared out of the window, watching as the fields and sky blurred into an endless, seamless haze. He’d never get completely used to living outside of a city.

“They can be tiny, like the ones in my gold mugs at my flat. Or they can be bigger, like the size of your hand even, for more complex things. They’re crucial for maintaining efficiency and extending the range of motetech applications, but even then, their production is limited. So, while they’ve made a difference, it’s still a balancing act with the resources we have.” Julien’s eyes suddenly slid over to him. “What?”

Cinn flinched. He’d switched from staring at the view to staring over at Julien, a grin aching his face.

“Sorry, I wasn’t actually listening to half of that. I was just enjoying listening to you nerd out.” Cinn lightly punched Julien’s arm. He scowled. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about. You’ll be running MEET in no time.”

After a scoff, Julien paused for a long moment. “I love the design side of things,” he said. The last time they’d gone to Paris, Cinn had flipped through an old sketchbook of Julien’s, and had been extremely impressed. “But I can’t continue to work under Jonathan Steele if he’s aligned himself fully with Père .”

Julien shifted the gearbox with violent force, then rested his hand on the gearstick, knuckles going white. Cinn gently pulled it onto his lap, rubbing the tension from Julien’s fingers and interlacing them with his own.

“Don’t think about him right now,” Cinn murmured, squeezing his hand tightly.

The warmth of the car lulled him to sleep for the rest of the journey. Julien gently woke him at the France–Switzerland border so they could flash their passports. Then, the next thing Cinn knew, he was rubbing bleary eyes, to see more clearly the industrial sprawl of Paris’s outskirts.

“Will you get annoyed at me if I tell you I booked the most expensive suite at the hotel?”

Cinn pressed his head back against the headrest. “We talked about this!”

“I know we did. And I stand by what I said—the towels alone are worth the price. ”

“Just don’t tell me how much it cost so I can’t convert it into months of groceries.”

When Julien pulled Maz up to the grand entrance of the hotel, Cinn wanted to punch him. It was simply the most outlandish building he’d ever seen—an elegant facade adorned with intricate stonework and twinkling lights—easily passable as a fairytale palace.

Inside, the lobby was a blend of marble floors, glittering lights, and ritzy seating. They moved past the check-in desk, their footsteps hushed by the opulent carpet, and took the elevator up to their room.

When the suite door swung open, Cinn’s jaw nearly dropped. Julien’s apartment back in Talwacht was one thing, but this was a whole other universe of opulence. Its sheer extravagance was overwhelming: floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dazzling view of Paris, while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the plush furniture. The living area boasted a piano grander than Julien’s own, and a lavishly stocked bar. The bathroom—complete with a jacuzzi and a rain shower—was practically the size of the entire ground floor of his house.

It was absurd, luxurious, and completely over the top. “Julien, this is… wow.”

There was no reply. He turned and found Julien sitting on the piano stool, his fingers gliding over the keys, as he played a soft, melodious tune.

“Right.” Julien sprang up from the piano stool with a sudden burst of energy, like the music had inspired him. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t you need to rest? You’ve just driven all day.” While Cinn slept like a baby.

“What? No. Paris awaits. And I’ve told you, Maz drives herself.” Julien wrapped that awful scarf around his neck. He’d kept his promise, wearing it almost every day, to Cinn’s mild horror, as it really didn’t go with his sleek, tailored wool overcoat, with its deep navy hue and sophisticated cut.

Julien held out his hand. “Ready for the best date of your life? ”

Cinn’s bar for dates had historically been set fairly low—six-packs shared between two on a park bench low—but Julien didn’t need to know that.

The streets of Paris buzzed with late afternoon hustle, the crisp January air carrying all the big city sounds Cinn often missed—honking horns, chatter from sidewalk cafés, and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on cobblestones. Shop windows glowed warmly against the gathering twilight, their displays a riot of colour amidst the swirl of passers-by wrapped in dark scarves and overcoats.

They walked for an age by the riverbank, the low winter sun casting long shadows and shimmering off the Seine’s cold, rippling surface, before heading to Rue de Rivoli . Julien led the way, reeling off facts about historic monuments that were difficult to study when Julien’s serious tour-guide face was far more amusing. And attractive.

Julien slowed the walk by giving extortionate amounts of money to any busker they came across, especially the terrible ones, but eventually they wandered over to a cluster of shoe shops where a stark white pair of trainers caught Cinn’s eye.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A memory was resurfacing from the depths of Cinn’s childhood. He pressed his fingers against the impeccably clean glass.

“When I was about twelve, all the kids on my street had these trainers. Not these exact ones, but close. They were bloody expensive, some new brand everyone was mad about. I kept asking my mum for them, and she’d always say no.” A pang of guilt hit him; as a kid, he hadn’t understood that if you couldn’t afford brand-name cereal, you definitely couldn’t afford brand-name trainers. “She got really pissed off whenever I brought it up. Then, one day, I came home, and there they were, just sitting on the kitchen counter.”

“New shoes on the table?” Julien pretended to shiver. “Well… that was nice of her. ”

“Six months later, she told me she’d sold my grandmother’s amethyst bracelet to pay for them.” It had been brutal—she’d thrown it in his face during a heated argument, but he didn’t want Julien to know that part. “I couldn’t even look at the trainers after that, let alone wear them.”

Julien took a moment, his gaze drifting thoughtfully as he carefully chose his words. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Well. She evidently cared deeply about you, and that meant making difficult choices.” He caught both of Cinn’s hands, warming them between his. “But now you can start to make new memories with her, when we go visit again.”

“ We ?” Cinn teased.

“She loved me, couldn’t you tell?”

“You only said about five words to her. It was some sort of Christmas miracle.”

Julien lightly shoved him before walking on.

Cinn’s stomach growled loudly—it had been hours since the cookies. “Not to complain, but any chance there’s food on this date at some point?”

Julien sent him a bemused sidelong glance. Five seconds later, they turned a corner, and the air turned thick with tantalising aromas of sizzling meats, fresh spices, and sweet pastries. The lively chatter and clamour of the crowd meant they could barely hear each other. Stalls lined the street, each one bursting with things so delicious Cinn would happily try them all.

He settled for three items. By the time they escaped the market, he was almost done with the second one.

“Ice cream?” Julien said, even though Cinn was still chewing his spicy chorizo taco. It had just the right amount of smokiness to it.

“No way,” Cinn replied through a mouthful. “Jog on. It’s already fucking freezing. ”

“ S’il te pla?t?”

Cinn shook his head. “I’m genuinely immune to your French now.”

Julien pouted. “But I know this hidden gem of a place. Béatrice and I would go there every time.”

Dead-sister card played, they weaved through several back alleys, and joined the long queue for the wooden hatch, where it almost appeared like someone was selling ice cream from their own kitchen.

“We used to eat so much, we’d almost throw up,” Julien remarked.

Cinn studied Julien. This was the first time he’d brought up Béatrice’s name casually since he took off her locket. Sometimes he’d see Julien reach for it, only for his fingers to meet empty air.

Whenever Cinn thought of Béatrice, he would meticulously examine the shadows for her looming presence. But she hadn’t decided to join them in this dingy alley, even for ice cream.

“Oh, really?” Cinn nudged Julien with his hip. “I’m having a hard time imagining you going that wild.” Then, with a sudden burst of courage, he added, “So, how are you feeling about all the Béatrice stuff now, anyway?”

A visible stiffness crept into Julien’s posture, his smile faltering slightly. “Fine,” he said curtly. “There’s nothing to say on it, really.”

Cinn rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any point pushing Julien, so he turned the conversation to ice-cream flavours. It was exceedingly tricky, but Cinn managed the feat of paying for their two tubs before Julien could, and they walked away with two lavender-flavoured ice creams sculpted into rose shapes. Almost too pretty to eat. Perching in a shop alcove, they watched the world go by as they inflicted brain freeze upon themselves on a glacial January night.

Cinn was definitely in charge of planning the next date.

“Right,” said Julien, getting to his feet before dragging Cinn up. “I hope that sugar has given you suitable energy, because next up, we’re about to do a lot of climbing. Over five hundred steps, in fact. ”

Cinn blinked at him, then his gaze drifted past Julien to the looming silhouette of the Eiffel Tower against the night sky. Surely Julien didn’t mean…?

“I thought you said you’d never go near that so-called ‘metal-beam monstrosity?’”

“ Oui , I did, so you better be very impressed that I’m putting myself through this just for you.”

“Totally.” Cinn’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it, warmth spread through his chest.

“Come on. Let’s get this over and done with before I change my mind.”

They continued walking through the quieting Paris streets, the city’s lights casting a warm glow on the cobblestones. As they crossed the Champ de Mars , the tower’s massive structure rose above them, reflecting in the nearby ponds and framed by the lush greenery.

They approached the tower’s base.

The base, with its darkened ticket booths and very much closed gates…

“It’s shut.” Cinn fought to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Of course it was closed—it was almost eleven at night. He tipped his head back to take in as much of the golden glow of the tower as possible. “It’s still cool to see it up close.”

A sigh from Julien, like Cinn had disappointed him. “Ye of little faith. There was no way we were coming here during visiting hours. The time wasted queuing would be one thing, and then there would have been all those people.” He shuddered. “But fear not, we’re still climbing up the stupid thing.”

Was Julien really suggesting what Cinn thought he was suggesting?

“No.” Cinn shook his head. “We are not breaking into the Eiffel Tower. That’s mental. Absolutely not.”

Surveying him, Julien said, “Darling, I’m hurt that you would expect anything less. ”

He held out his hand.

Cinn took it.

Thoughts of ‘how is this my life’ and ‘he’s insane, he’s absolutely insane’ circulated through Cinn’s head as Julien catapulted them towards a security gate.

“But what about the—”

“CCTV?” Julien finished.

A sudden pop sounded from above them, followed by several more, further away. It took a few seconds for Cinn to locate the security cameras… now with a wisp of smoke curling from their housing.

“Aren’t there guards or some shit?”

Julien shrugged, leading them to a service entrance. He swung his rucksack off his back and grabbed the strange device that allowed him to unlock anything he wanted, seemingly.

An image of Madame Sinclair arriving at a Parisian jail to bail them out plagued Cinn.

“Julien, I’m really not sure about this.”

Julien’s standard infuriating smile plastered itself on his face. “You wanted a date, remember? I’m giving you a date. The most memorable date of your life, mon amour .”

It would certainly be memorable when they got arrested, he’d give Julien that.

Cinn followed Julien inside, the interior dimly lit by emergency lights. The steel beams and industrial feel of the tower’s underbelly were starkly different from its glowing exterior.

“We take the stairs.” Julien dropped his voice. “Elevators are too risky. I hope you’re ready for your thighs to ache. And not in a fun way.” With a single wink, Julien left Cinn to begin a swift march.

Cinn had to exert himself to catch up, the metal stairs clanging softly under his feet. It wasn’t long before his breath came in quiet gasps. “How far up are we going? ”

“All the way to the top, obviously.”

After an age of climbing, with every step feeling heavier than the last, they finally reached the final platform.

First to reach the railing, Julien leaned backwards, throwing his arms out, looking pleased. “See? Worth every step.”

For a long moment, Cinn froze, unable to move past the sight of Julien, bathed in the golden glow of the city lights. That single image—his blond hair catching the light, his high cheekbones casting delicate shadows, and his smile radiating warmth against the backdrop of Paris. If he had any air left in his lungs, Julien’s beauty would have stolen it away.

Julien reached out, taking Cinn by the arm and guiding him to the railing, finally getting him to move. The striking panorama of the city of Paris spread out below them. For a timeless moment, they stood silently, gazing at the city lights shimmering like a thousand stars beneath them, a sea of twinkling lights.

“Ah, the perfect view of Paris—one that doesn’t feature this ugly blight of steel.” Julien sighed dramatically, clutching his heart. “So, while we’re here…”

Trailing off, Julien pressed his other hand to Cinn’s chest, kicking his heart into overdrive.

It was the look in Julien’s eye that sent Cinn into a spiralling panic.

“Don’t do it,” Cinn warned.

“Do what?”

“A dramatic declaration of… whatever. If you’re about to do that, I’ll throw you off this tower.” Cinn attempted to sound stern despite the heat creeping into his cheeks.

“What? I was only about to comment on the glorious nighttime view we’re both enjoying.” Julien threw his arms out wide.

“Oh, really? ”

A mischievous grin danced across Julien’s face. “ Oui , and the way it makes your eyes look like molten gold flecked with emerald, shimmering with an ethereal light that could only be captured in the most poetic of sonnets.”

Cinn rolled his entire head, nudging his elbow into Julien’s ribs. “Move over, Shakespeare.”

“You know what?” Julien pushed himself against Cinn, the cold bars of the railing digging into his back. “I think you secretly love all this mushy stuff.”

“No way.” Cinn shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the flutter of butterflies in his stomach that certainly didn’t exist.

“Oh, come on. You mean you don’t melt at the idea of us as star-crossed lovers, defying the odds under a blanket of shimmering Parisian lights?”

Cinn groaned and covered his ears. An involuntary twitch cracked the edges of his mouth. “Please stop.”

Julien moved away from him, folding his arms. “I guess I’ll save my question for when we’re on the bus later, then. Sitting next to the old lady who smells like cats.”

Cinn studied Julien, but he gave nothing away.

“What question?”

“ Non , it’s fine. I’ll save it for when we’re down there, near the trash bins.”

Groaning, Cinn pushed against Julien’s chest. “I don’t even believe you have a question.”

A silent stillness took hold of them, which stretched into the night. Cinn waited for Julien to say something else, but something was wrong with him. He opened and shut his mouth, and kept glancing over Cinn’s shoulder. Was he… nervous?

“My question is…”

Cinn waited. And waited .

What the hell ? Was something lodged in Julien’s throat?

“I…”

Another pause.

“Oh, stop,” Cinn said, whacking Julien and making to turn away.

“Hold on!” Julien clutched his arm, a flash of desperation in his wide eyes. “Fine.” He took a deep breath. “As we’ve come to this apparently romantic location, I should ask you if you want to be my boyfriend.”

Cinn almost choked on his own spit. He couldn’t have said why, but that was the last thing he expected. A dozen snarky comments lined themselves up on Cinn’s lips— did that word burn your tongue? —but he swallowed them down.

“Well?” Julien demanded, his face displaying a soft vulnerability Cinn had never seen before, his fingers tightening nervously around the railing. “I guess that’s a no, then?”

Cinn did his best not to laugh. “For fuck’s sake, Julien. Obviously yes. You didn’t need to bring me up the metal-beam monstrosity to ask me that.”

“But how else could I wax poetic about the shape of your face compared to the moon? Ever so shiny, ever so round?” Julien poked Cinn’s cheek. “It’s not my fault you demanded a date.”

“Julien, if this was meant to be a special moment, you’re spoiling it. Shut your mouth.”

“Non . But now, seriously.”

Julien caught his chin, tipping his face up. In this light, his grey eyes were the colour of moonstone. Moonstone that reflected the twinkling stars.

The volume of Julien’s voice dropped low to say, “I don’t know if I believe in destiny, but you are the most compelling case for it I’ve ever seen.”

Cinn’s heart skipped all the beats. Every single one .

It was a sentence he never expected to hear aloud, even though it was the exact one Julien had written at the bottom of the letter he’d written to him.

Cinn had always believed love was something you made work, not something that was written in the stars. But here, in the quiet glow of Paris, Julien’s words felt like the universe’s own whisper. Like the moment was… predetermined? Like they were always meant to find each other.

“You’re biting your lip again,” Julien said, nudging his thumb against Cinn’s lip. “What are you so worried about?”

“How much I like you.”

The honesty spilled from his mouth before he had a chance to censor it. If Julien was hurt by the statement, he concealed it.

Julien brushed his knuckles against the edge of Cinn’s chin. “That’s one thing you don’t need to worry about. But you don’t need to take my word for it.” He pressed his lips against Cinn’s. “I plan to spend every day proving it to you.”

As their lips met, time paused, the world around them fading into a velvety blur.

Slow. Tender. Exploratory. The kiss was like the first light of dawn breaking through after a long night. It was a slow dance in the quiet of their secluded spot, a melding of breaths and hearts in the gentle illumination of the tower’s lights. Julien worked his way under Cinn’s hoodie to press a cold hand against his spine, but the cool touch heightened the warmth being shared between their mouths. Each touch of their lips was a promise, an exchange of unspoken dreams of the future. It was their own brand of communication, their kisses brimming with everything they hadn’t said out loud.

But… if Julien had been brave enough to ask his question, surely Cinn could be brave too ?

Breaking the kiss, Cinn pulled away, gaze steady as he searched for the exact right words, a surge of emotion pressing at the edge of his resolve. He started to speak, but just as the first syllable left his lips, Julien’s hand gently cupped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, making the moment stretch into a quiet, charged pause.

Cinn’s heart raced with a mix of exhilaration and sheer terror, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of unspoken words pressed heavily on his chest.

He had to say it. He wanted Julien to know.

Fuck, why was he shaking this much? It was just one tiny sentence!

A deep breath.

He took the plunge.

“Julien, I—”

A sudden, harsh voice came from behind them.

A figure emerged from the shadows, wearing a sharply pressed uniform, a handheld radio transceiver clipped to his belt.

His flashlight swept over them, revealing a stern expression as he barked, “ Restez où vous êtes, la police arrive! ”