The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

22. Cinn

twenty-two

Cinn

C inn had become so familiar with the red city greeting him in the shadowrealm that its absence caught him off guard.

He’d long since given up deciphering the rules for this place, choosing at this point to simply go with the flow. In contrast, Noir was endlessly fascinated by Cinn’s experiences—he’d probably go nuts if he ever heard that, for the first time, Cinn had felt summoned, slipping voluntarily rather than landing here as a product of a panic attack.

Cinn was still in the church, with several key differences. A plain window had become stained glass, gleaming with vibrant colours. On the far wall, an old fresco had materialised, depicting the figure of Saint Michael the Archangel, sword raised, triumphing over a twisted, shadowy serpent. The pews had also changed—each one aged and scarred.

It didn’t take a genius to work out—Cinn was in the church pre-accident.

He was in a memory.

A light touch on his shoulder had Cinn spinning. Standing before him was a woman with blonde hair and those piercing grey eyes he knew intimately. Julien’s mother. He’d seen her in the shadowrealm before, briefly. Now, up close, the resemblance to Béatrice was startling. Her delicate features, the soft curve of her lips, the intensity in her gaze…

“Hello,” she said.

Did she know who he was?

“Hello,” Cinn replied. He racked his brain for her name… “Isabelle? ”

A smile broke out across her face.

A meow sounded from between their feet. Not the soft mew of a cute kitten, but the guttural, raspy yowl of their ugly shadow cat. It jumped into Isabelle’s arms.

Leaning over, Cinn scratched Béatrice’s flickering ears. The cat leaned into the touch. “And where the hell were you when I was attacked last night?” It seemed rather unfair to give him epic shadow powers, then snatch them away again.

Béatrice gave him no answer, only licked a smoky black paw.

“Why am I here, Isabelle?” Cinn asked. Back in the present day, Julien’s temper with the priest was likely fraying even further in Cinn’s absence.

Isabelle’s smile fell. “To watch,” she said simply, then crossed the church to press her back against a brick wall, still stroking the cat. “Come.”

An unpleasant knot tightened in Cinn’s stomach.

He’d already seen how this story ended—did he really need to see it all unfold? To see the moment Julien’s life forever shattered?

Even if he could refuse, he was out of time—Father Gérard entered the nave, slipping into the church through a back door. Although only a decade younger, he seemed a youthful man compared to the elderly gent Cinn had just met. He had a spring in his step as he hummed a hymn to himself, while sorting through a pile of bibles.

Bang .

The heavy oak doors burst open.

Isabelle marched through, closing an umbrella, hair damp from rain. She was the twin of the woman standing next to Cinn, down to her knitted blue jumper. On her heels, two unsmiling, young blonde teenagers shadowed her .

“Stay here, please,” Isabelle said, English to Cinn’s ears, the words sounding in his mind with a disembodied clarity, as if they were being whispered directly into his consciousness.

Young Julien and Béatrice pulled symmetrical despondent faces at their mother. Had they been dragged from the city against their will? The pair located a secluded pew towards the back of the church, settling into it and lowering their voices to a hushed murmur. They glowered at their mother’s receding back.

The Isabelle who stood beside Cinn chuckled lightly. “They were supposed to go to a friend’s party that day.”

What was so important it required Isabelle to visit Moret-sur-Loing so urgently?

Father Gérard’s hymn faltered mid-note, his mouth moving silently as Isabelle strode down the aisle. The stack of bibles he was sorting toppled. “Isabelle.”

“Father.” Isabelle’s hushed tone contained unmistakable fear. “I didn’t know where else to come. He’s finished it. Against all the warnings. He switched it on yesterday.”

“Come,” the priest replied, expression grave. “Sit.”

The pair perched on the edge of the altar steps, sitting closely together to continue their hushed conversation.

“We’ve failed. The Machina Tenebris project is complete,” Isabelle said, her voice cracking, her eyes wide as if the words themselves were a curse.

“The dark machine.” The priest wrung his hands together before staring up at the stained-glass window, which depicted Christ the Redeemer with outstretched arms, light pouring down from heaven. He made the sign of the cross, his voice trembling as he said, “Lord, give me strength.”

“I tried. I really did. I’m so sorry, Father. I’ve let everyone down.”

“Your husband’s choices are not your burden to bear, Isabelle. Marriage does not bind you to his sins. ”

Isabelle glanced towards Julien and Béatrice, still sulking in the corner. “Now I’m worried, Father,” she said, clutching his forearm. “If he finds out what I’ve been doing, about all the ways I’ve betrayed him, he’ll use my children as leverage against me. You know his ruthlessness doesn’t stop at hurting me.” She touched her eyebrow, drawing attention to a faint bruise. “I’ve thought it through, and I need to step back now, before it’s too late.”

Father Gérard placed a hand over hers. “You’ve walked a dangerous path, Isabelle. If you must step back, do so, but know that God’s light will guide you, even through the darkest shadows. Though, remember why we are concerned. Your children must remain untouched by the darkness he’ll create—trust in His mercy, and in your own strength.”

“There’s something you don’t know. It’s about Julien. He’s… blessed you would say. In a unique way. Although, it remains to be seen if his blessing will be a curse. He possesses power like I’ve never seen, not from any first or second generation moteblessed. He describes these extraordinary motes I’ve never heard of, and can’t even fathom.”

The priest took a moment. “Does Lucien know about this?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. I’ve told Julien to hide it from everyone for now, including his father. He didn’t need to be told twice there. But—” Another fearful glance towards her children. “There’s been a couple of times where he’s almost revealed himself in front of Lucien. Usually, when Lucien has upset him. Or me.”

Guilt splashed across Isabelle’s face before it crumpled. She threw her arm over her eyes to hide tears. Father Gérard embraced her, patting her back.

Were Julien and Béatrice paying attention to all this?

Yes. Yes, they were.

Julien’s gaze latched onto his crying mother, nudging Béatrice with his elbow.

The lull in conversation allowed Cinn to turn to his Isabelle. “ Machina Tenebris project? I think the umbraphage mentioned that to us. Did Julien’s father make it? What is it?”

“Yes. Lucien and his friends.” Isabelle’s face soured as she ran her fingers through Béatrice’s shadowy fur. “It’s everything he ever wanted. Unlimited motepower, on tap, controlled by him.”

Cinn opened his mouth to ambush her with a dozen more questions, but Isabelle held up her hand. “I’m sorry for what you’re about to see,” she said softly, nodding towards the church’s door.

In all the revelations, Cinn had briefly forgotten Isabelle was going to die today, in this very church.

His stomach tightened with a grim sense of inevitability. The weight of what was about to happen crashed over him, settling into a deep, sorrowful sadness for the woman whom Julien loved.

The heavy oak flew open with a bang. Around six armed officers rushed into the church. Navy blue uniforms, strange weapons that looked familiar… It took Cinn’s reeling brain a second to realise who they were—Auri’s gendarmerie.

They’re all in his pocket , Julien often said. Everyone is.

One man stepped forward from the group. “Isabelle Montaigne.”

Julien’s mother stood, eyes wide and hands trembling, as she instinctively reached for the pew in front of her to steady herself. “No. Not here.”

Father Gérard stepped forward, raising a hand as if to ward off the intruders. “This is a house of God,” he said, voice steady with conviction. “You cannot bring violence into this sacred place.”

“There will be no violence,” the officer said, “if Isabelle Montaigne respects our arrest warrant and comes with us.”

“On what grounds do you dare to arrest her in this holy place? Isabelle is a good woman, and this is a sanctuary. What charges could possibly justify such a breach of peace? ”

The officer’s lips curled into a sneer. “That isn’t your concern, old man. Step aside before you find yourself in more trouble than you can pray your way out of. Isabelle Montaigne knows exactly why we’re here.”

A soft noise from the corner of the church. Béatrice held her hand over her mouth, as if muffling herself. Julien stood behind her, fists clenched, face a tornado of anger.

Cinn battled an overwhelming urge to look away, to shield himself from the pain and fury twisting across Julien’s face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

In unison, the gendarmerie marched down the aisle. Several of them had the motetech batons Cinn had seen around Auri, which doubled as a taser.

Father Gérard rose to place himself in front of Isabelle. She pushed him aside, murmuring something into his ear. He nodded, then swiftly headed towards the door he’d entered through earlier. Was this escape how he survived whatever happened next?

“I will willingly do whatever you wish as soon as I’ve delivered my children to safety,” Isabelle said, clear and calm.

“We’ll get them back to Paris, ma’am,” a female officer said. “Don’t worry about that.”

Julien had left the corner to stride down the aisle.

“Julien! Stay back with Béatrice,” Isabelle ordered.

Footsteps faltering, Julien paused.

“They’re not going back to Paris.” Isabelle burrowed her gaze into the female officer’s, like she was entrusting her with a secret. “Please, let me get my children to safety.”

A wave of confliction passed over the officer’s face, and she glanced between her colleagues. Cinn held his breath.

“Our orders are clear,” said the man, glowering at the women’s exchange. Stepping forward, he grabbed Isabelle’s wrists, handcuffs swinging from his other hand. These weren’t your average handcuffs that Cinn himself had experienced first-hand—these bulkier cuffs emitted a faint, ominous glow.

“Get off her!” little Julien screeched, wildcat-like.

The rest of the gendarmerie parted like the Red Sea, content to let their leader deal with the tempestuous teenager.

“I said, get off her ,” Julien repeated, his small frame tense, fists clenched at his sides. His stance was defiant, shoulders squared, as if ready to pounce. “Or you’ll be sorry!”

The gendarme clutching Isabelle’s wrist barked a laugh, a harsh, dismissive sound that echoed through the church.

“Julien!” Isabelle begged. “Do not anger these officers. Go back to Béatrice, now!”

But her son ignored her, eyes only for the man who threatened his mother, staring him down as if to will him to release Isabelle.

The broad man yanked firmly on Isabelle’s arm, and a sharp yelp left her lips.

This was it. Cinn could see it in Julien’s eyes.

From Cinn’s vantage point, the memory unfurled in surreal intensity.

Julien unleashed a primal scream, charging at the officer like a panther.

The boy’s scream was more than a cry; it was a force of raw, unfiltered power. The surrounding air shimmered with electric tension. It was undoubtable—he was channelling, accessing those elusive motes, just as Isabelle described. An invisible wave surged outward, rippling through the space with a roar that shook the very foundations of the church.

The shockwave was a violent crescendo, a pulsating blast that struck with the fury of a hurricane. The gendarmerie, taken by surprise, were hurled through the air as if thrown by the divine hand of God. Their bodies, flung against the walls, collided with a sickening clamour of splintering wood and shattering glass. The explosive force shattered the holy atmosphere, sending debris—plaster, stained glass, splinters—raining down from the vaulted ceiling.

The force of Julien’s power had cracked the very bones of the church. With an almighty groan, the ceiling buckled under the strain, heavy stones and timbers collapsing in slow-motion—the church itself bowing to Julien’s fury.

Cinn watched on, breathless and awestruck. The altar was wrenched from its moorings as Julien transformed the sacred space into a tumultuous battlefield of fallen monuments and smoke. Grey ash filled the air, and that’s when Cinn realised he’d reached the part of the journey he’d been on once before, although witnessed through Béatrice’s spirit.

Where was Isabelle now? Cinn couldn’t make her out through the carnage.

“Over there,” the Isabelle beside him said, nodding to the far wall, where her twin lay crumpled, ruined. Deceased.

And there was young Julien, cradling his mother’s head on his lap.

Studying the devastation on his face reminded Cinn all too viscerally of his Julien’s expression, when he’d learned Cinn had seen this fragment of memory.

“My girl,” Isabelle murmured, watching her determined daughter cross the wreckage, limping.

Béatrice attempted to throw her arms around a screaming Julien. Cinn braced for what was next—Julien pushing her away, throwing her off. He grimaced anyway, witnessing it again.

“It’s all my fault!” Julien’s voice boomed through the church, desperate, ragged.

Cinn’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing his soul with the intensity of Julien’s raw anguish. The weight of Julien’s guilt and desperation was so palpable that Cinn could almost taste the chasm of grief that stretched infinitely in the face of Julien’s self-blame. The sight of Julien’s tortured expression had Cinn drowning in a suffocating wave that left him gasping, closing his eyes.

All sound blurred, then faded, sinking into a distant abyss. All that was left was a hollow silence, punctuated only by Cinn’s own breaths. A soft, tentative touch brushed his shoulder—Isabelle’s hand, warm and reassuring.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, the church was gone, replaced with darkness. Isabelle stood before him, Béatrice in her arms still, flicking a shadowy tail. The pair both looked at Cinn with a blend of solemnity and sadness.

“Don’t worry, love,” she said. “He’ll be okay.”

Cinn was rendered speechless, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. Isabelle seemed so certain, but Cinn’s Julien was laughably far from okay .

“Look after him for me,” Isabelle continued, pressing a motherly kiss to his cheek. “And for her.”

Darkness encroached on the edges of Cinn’s vision, rushing inwards at breakneck speed. “Wait!” he managed to get out, but it was too late, for the void swallowed them whole.

Cinn blinked awake, stomach lurching. He felt like he’d just been spun around on a fairground ride. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light of the church.

The thick dust had gone, and so had the screaming. He was back in the present day, but instead of feeling relief, he found he still carried the heavy sadness instilled in him from what he’d just witnessed .

Julien’s concerned face, over a decade older than the youth Cinn watched fall apart, soon filled his vision. He pressed a hand either side of Cinn’s head. “Finally. I’ve been so worried. Are you alright?”

No, Cinn wanted to answer. I’m so far from okay after watching that, it’s not even funny.

Instead, he mumbled, “Sorry,” pulling himself upright on the pew. “Did I miss much?” he asked, but as he looked between Julien’s tense face and Father Gérard, it became clear that the conversation that had been held in his absence was very likely a rendition of what he’d just witnessed himself.

Observing Julien’s cold gaze pierce through the priest, it was impossible not to imagine that Julien harboured a deep-rooted resentment for him. Julien’s mother had perished that day, while Father Gérard escaped.

“So you’re telling me,” Julien said, “that AP has been around since way before my mother’s death?”

The priest nodded. “Out of the public eye for many years, but yes. We started as a small group of like-minded individuals with concerns about the wider impact motecraft was having, particularly motetech. You’ll know this, Julien, from both your father and your time with MEET”—Julien flinched—“but the late seventies, when AP was established, saw an explosion of motetech. The industry simply couldn’t keep up with demand.”

“Are we talking about that machine thing?” Cinn interjected. “I just, uhh… saw you talking to Isabelle. On the day she died. About it all.” He pointedly focussed on the priest.

“The Machina Tenebris project.” Father Gérard nodded. “It existed only in the whispers of rumours. Until it did not. As far as my information serves, it is some sort of technology that enables extreme production of harnessed motepower. But at a price.”

“And this has been operating all this time?” snapped Julien. “Really? ”

“How do you think we suddenly found the energy to power a network of portable Displacement Baths ten years ago using motecells, hmm?”

The fight visibly drained from Julien’s face.

The image of the umbraphages shouting at them, their voices filled with urgency, replayed itself in his mind. They’d wanted the machine destroyed. Desperately. “What price?” asked Cinn.

“The Arcane Purifiers believe the price is the end of the world.”

A heavy silence followed, the words hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

If the umbraphages’s red cities and prophetic warnings were anything to go by, the old priest was correct.

“So what exactly have AP been doing about this? Also, they may have started out however you say, but their actions last November have led most of the community to see them as a terrorist group. People died in the Cerulean Auditorium attack.”

Father Gérard nodded gravely, his fingers tracing the edge of his collar. “Yes, that was deeply unfortunate. You must understand, I am very much on the fringe of the Purifiers these days. But I understand that there was some… division between different sub-groups operating under the AP banner. If it’s any consolation, I assure you the people responsible for the violence are no longer with us—they’re under God’s judgement now. ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ They have met their end, as all must who stray from His path.”

Violence met with violence. Makes sense.

“As for what we’re doing? There is a taskforce attempting to verify the existence and location of the machine—”

“Existence?” Julien cried. “You just said it definitely exists, and that my father built it. Does it exist, or not?”

“Your mother claimed so. She tried to stop it, stop him—”

Julien slammed his fist against the wooden pew, causing the entire church to echo with the force. His patience had evidently reached its limit. Saying his name, Cinn reached out for Julien, but without another word, he stormed down the aisle.

“Wait!” shouted Father Gérard, lifting a withered hand. “There’s one more thing you should know. Someone who can help you far more than—”

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind Julien with a reverberating crash.

Cinn sighed. This all clearly hadn’t done Julien’s mood any favours. “Sorry about him. It’s all been a bit of a time. I’ll go get him back.”

Expecting to see Julien by Maz, it was a surprise to find him leaning against the church’s wall, knee bent against the stone.

“Don’t,” Julien warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Lecture me for running off.”

“I wasn’t about to.”

Cinn allowed a silence to settle over them, waiting for Julien to be ready to lead the conversation.

“I…” Julien started, eyes high, fixated on the grey sky. “I can’t believe it was him. My father. It must have been him who sent the gendarmerie to arrest Mère that day.”

Something in the way he said the words, laden with resignation, implied Julien had always known this truth, deep down.

“That bastard !”

Julien had never sounded quite like this, this raw, guttural eruption of pain and disbelief. The anguish in his voice was so palpable it felt like a physical force, a storm of rage and sorrow.

“I’ll kill him.” Julien’s quiet conviction was alarming, especially when he stepped forward from the wall, as if he were off to do just that.

Cinn threw his palms out. “Hey now— ”

Instead of pushing Cinn out of the way, Julien spun, face twisted with fury, and slammed his fist into the brick wall with so much momentum, Cinn’s teeth ground together in sympathy for his knuckles.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” Julien screamed, and made to punch the brick again.

Cinn caught his elbow, wrenching it backwards. “Jul—”

“How dare he? How fucking dare he sit there across from me all these years, knowing the whole time?”

“I don’t know.” Cinn tugged Julien away from the wall, trying to grab both his arms, but Julien broke out of his grip to pace up and down.

“How was I this stupid?” Julien shook his head at himself, genuine confusion written across his face. “ Putain , how I’ve been so stupid !”

Cinn had been expecting this moment, of course. Julien had been on a collision course for some sort of breakdown since the moment Cinn had met him. But now, wading through the thick of it with him, the depth of Julien’s self-critical despair was almost too much to bear, leaving Cinn to drown in a tide of helplessness.

“And—” Julien stopped pacing. “Of course. Yesterday. That was him, as well. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“The break in?” Cinn rubbed his tired eyes. It already felt like a lifetime ago since those men dragged him out of bed in the early hours of that morning. “You think your dad sent those men?”

Cinn didn’t mean for the words to sound so doubtful; he was simply processing it all.

However, Julien’s face crumpled in disdain. “But of course it was! It makes complete sense. Remember just before Christmas, when he asked me about you ‘helping’ him? Well, obviously, he didn’t want to take no for an answer. Trust me. I know it was him. Why don’t you trust me?”

Julien glared at Cinn, daring him to challenge him.

Cinn raised two palms in surrender. “Okay, okay! Just chill out for a second, I’m—”

“Chill out?” Julien shrieked.

—on your side, here.

Inwardly, Cinn groaned. He should have led with that.

“ Chill out ?! How can I possibly chill out when I’ve just found out that it was my father who sent those men to arrest Mère , resulting in me killing her? And that she came here to tell Father Gérard about some sort of…” Julien waved his arm wildly in the air. “Some sort of secret destructive device that’s causing the umbraphages and this second wave of calamities.”

Again, Cinn attempted to catch hold of Julien, and again, he writhed away, a feral animal in distress.

“And then last night, he fucking sent people to our hotel to snatch you!” At that, Julien finally looked at Cinn, deep wells of horror replacing his eyes. “I almost lost you!” A deep breath. “I almost lost you to him ! So I’m going to kill him. I’ll do it, I swear. Fuck him. And fuck Eleanor for supporting him. I thought I could count on her, of all people. Why was I so trusting?”

Julien’s tirade was becoming more rapid, more deranged by the second. Before Cinn could formulate a plan of action, Julien twisted away from him.

Wham .

His fist connected with the unforgiving stone wall again, Cinn’s heart absorbing the blow.

Wham.

“And fuck Béatrice!” Julien tipped his head back, shouting towards the heavens now. “My only sister, for lying to me for months, then dying and leaving me alone to deal with all this shit!”

Cinn found himself flattening against the wall of the church as if Julien’s words were a strong wind.

“We were meant to be a team.” Julien’s voice cracked. “We were all we had left. Why didn’t she tell me about AP? Why didn’t she trust me?”

Julien looked to Cinn for an answer, blinking rapidly.

“Um…” he started, fumbling around for something comforting to say. “I’m sure she had her reasons. Maybe she was trying to protect you? She ended up dead from it, after all.”

“Dead…” Julien ran the word over his tongue. Something was ticking over in his brain, and Cinn braced for the next inevitable outburst. Pressing two palms against the brick, Julien slowly shook his head. “I… I think he killed her as well.”

“What?”

“I think my father killed Béatrice.”

A sharp gust of wind whistled through the bare branches, cutting through the cold air.

“It adds up with his wife acting weird when she saw Béatrice’s locket on me at his birthday party.” Julien’s hands went to his empty neck, where the locket usually lay. “I stole it back from the evidence locker. They probably had the whole thing covered up.”

Cinn started to protest, to deny the possibility that Julien’s father could have had his own daughter killed, but the conviction in Julien’s eyes stopped him cold.

Julien often maintained that Béatrice’s relationship with their father was even worse than his own. If Lucien had learned that his daughter had joined the very organisation that threatened his power…

But to kill your own flesh and blood? In such a brutal way?

Cinn hesitated for a moment, mind racing. Looking into Julien’s tormented eyes, he realised there was no room for empty reassurances. Instead, he reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of Julien’s hair behind his ear, his touch lingering to squeeze the back of his neck. “I believe you,” Cinn said softly, lifting Julien’s hand to press a tender kiss against his knuckles, scratched and already bruised. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“He killed Béatrice. He’s partially responsible for Mè re —”

“ Entirely responsible,” Cinn insisted, rubbing his thumbs over Julien’s swollen hands. “You need to stop blaming yourself. It’s not healthy.”

“It’s the truth! It’s fact. It’s what happened. You saw it with your own eyes!” Julien cried, trying to free himself from Cinn’s grip.

“Yes, exactly.” Cinn battled to keep hold of Julien. He wouldn’t allow him to punch the wall again. “I saw a terrified child be very brave and try to help his mother.”

Julien visibly rolled his eyes.

“Julien, you need to listen to me. Please.”

After a beat, Julien stilled, finally meeting Cinn’s gaze.

“It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.”

Cinn said the words often enough to himself, whenever the memory of the four bodies, bloodied and staring towards him with lifeless eyes, haunted his thoughts. If Cinn could believe them, so could Julien.

“It was his.” Cinn brushed his knuckles against Julien’s chin. “And if I have to tell you that every day for the rest of time for you to believe it, I will.”

Julien opened his mouth, eyebrows drawn in defiant lines.

Cinn pressed a finger to Julien’s lips. “No. You’re not allowed to say another word except ‘you’re right.’”

Julien’s mouth snapped shut at the touch of Cinn’s finger, his defiant expression wavering. For a moment, his eyes flickered with the familiar storm of anger and guilt, but then something softened. He let out a shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. His gaze remained locked on Cinn’s, searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, Julien swallowed hard, the fight slowly draining from him.

A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he finally whispered, “You’re right.”

Thank God .

A small sense of victory tinged with sorrow settled over Cinn. This was simply one battle in a long war, but seeing the fight leave Julien, if only for a moment, gave him the strength to keep going. Keep filling the cracks in Julien’s soul, the ones caused by years of grief and self-blame. And as he stared into Julien’s hopeful eyes, and saw the trust so plainly written there, it strengthened Cinn’s resolve to stay by his side, no matter how many battles lay ahead.

Then Julien’s eyes narrowed, and his smile dropped. “He’s taken both of them from me, and now he’s trying to take you from me.”

“I won’t let him.” Exactly how Cinn would ensure that was a problem for later.

“But you’re not just in danger from him. It’s me as well. This morning proved that.” Julien ran his hand up the arm of Cinn’s hoodie to where the makeshift bandage was. “You can’t trust me not to hurt you, Cinn.” Julien grabbed Cinn’s shoulders. He sobered, lowering his voice to say, “And I know you wish you were back in London,” like a confession.

What? Where the hell did this come from?

Reeling, Cinn’s mouth fell open in shock.

“So you should go back there, right now. Hide away somewhere.” Julien squeezed Cinn’s arms, digging in painfully, then stared down at the ground. “I know it’s only a matter of time before you leave, anyway.”

Me was the unspoken word.

For one, Cinn was pretty sure being in a different country wouldn’t protect him, but he moved past that argument.

“Julien,” Cinn said through gritted teeth. “Stop.”

A flash of defiance crossed Julien’s face, his jaw twitching.

Cinn slapped him. Once, lightly, on the cheek.

“Listen, you muppet.” Cinn wriggled free from Julien’s tight grip and wrapped his arms around Julien’s waist, pulling him close. Resting his chin on Julien’s shoulder, Cinn spoke softly into his ear. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot. Do you really think I’d just walk away from all this? ”

At Cinn’s words, Julien settled slightly into the embrace, holding Cinn in return, trailing a tentative palm across Cinn’s back.

“I don’t know what you take me for, but I’m in this for the long haul. Why you’ve got this idea in your head that I’d rather be back in London is beyond me.”

Cinn pulled away to clasp Julien’s head with both hands, looking deep into the grey eyes that captured his heart the first time they met, even if he didn’t know it then.

“There is nowhere, nowhere I’d rather be than with you, wherever you are. Do you hear me?”

Julien’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me. Besides, I just promised your mother’s spirit I’ll look after you. I’ve already got Béatrice haunting me. I don’t want your mum as well.”

Julien’s breath caught. “What did she say?”

“Very little. But she didn’t need to. I could sense the love for you and Béatrice pouring out of her.”

Speaking of love…

“Also…” Cinn inhaled a deep breath to settle the wildfire of nerves igniting in his stomach. “I know this is weird timing, but I tried to say this yesterday, twice, actually.”

A puzzled frown from Julien.

“Once at the Eiffel Tower, and then again when you were asleep.”

“Cinn—” Julien looked past his shoulder.

“So, just so you know, for the record—”

“Wait—”

“Bloody hell, Julien, can you not just give me one more second to finish!”

The frown deepened. “But—”

“I love you, okay?” Cinn screamed at him, then cringed at his frantic declaration. “Just so you know.”

Julien froze, his entire body going rigid. His eyes widened, unblinking, as if he were struggling to comprehend the words that had just been hurled at him. His mouth opened slightly, a mixture of disbelief and confusion etched into his features.

Mortification rolled over Cinn in violent bursts. The sudden urge to run and hide somewhere in the church’s graveyard was strong. “Forget it,” he mumbled, dropping his hold on Julien.

Why did he think burdening Julien with that right now was a good idea? He’d been so desperate to unleash those words, yet now a cold wave of regret crashed over him.

“ Non ,” Julien whispered.

“Just forget I said anything,” Cinn pleaded, frustration intensifying. Could this day get any worse? “Please! Just forget it. I won’t bring it up again.”

“ Non ! Stop! Look!” Julien pointed to behind Cinn, voice brimming with urgency.

Cinn turned. A black SUV sped along the long, winding road leading up to the church. It hurtled towards them with alarming speed, its tyres screeching against the gravel.

The car was fast. Fast and loud. Cinn surely would have heard it coming if he hadn’t been so absorbed with his crisis. His heart plummeted. Yes, apparently the day could get worse.

“That’s not good, is it?”

Julien moved towards Maz. “Quick. We need to run.” He tossed Cinn the car keys.

Cinn looked down at them in confusion, then back up to Julien.

“You drive, I’ll channel and see what I can do to slow them down,” Julien said.

“What? Me? I can’t drive.” Cinn tossed the keys back.

“What? You can’t drive at all ?” Julien shrieked.

“London, mate,” Cinn said apologetically .

“Well, Maz practically drives herself.” Julien sent the keys flying back, hitting Cinn square in the chest.

“Julien, practically isn’t good enough if you want to live!” shouted Cinn, as the SUV was moments away from them. He launched the keys back at Julien.

Julien made a frustrated sound, then dove into the driver’s seat.

The moment they slammed Maz’s doors shut, the SUV skidded to a halt in front of the church, sending a spray of gravel scattering across the ground.

“Buckle up,” said Julien, turning on the ignition. “This is going to be one hell of a ride.”