Lucien sat in his office, the dim amber glow of enchanted lanterns reflecting off polished blackwood and the gleam of the metal chains on his suit. Rain tapped softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the only sound until the door opened and two of his men stepped in—one of them dragging someone with restrained urgency.
A young woman.
Her eyes were covered by a tight strip of dark cloth. A raven perched on her shoulder, silent and unmoving, its black jeweled eyes watching the room as though it understood everything. The woman herself looked barely twenty—pale skin, delicate features, lips slightly parted as though she was holding back something. A smear of dried blood traced from her eyebrow down to her cheek, fresh enough to sting.
She was wrapped in layered dark fabrics—shawl, hood, scarf—clothing more suited to mourning than imprisonment. She didn’t speak, didn’t struggle, didn’t tremble. She simply existed there in front of his desk like a silent omen.
His enforcer cleared his throat.
“Boss… she was delivered to us. A gift, supposedly.”
Lucien raised a brow slowly.
The man swallowed. “Their message said she needed to be removed. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. They were terrified of her.”
Lucien’s gaze shifted to the woman again, calculating. “She doesn’t appear dangerous.”
The enforcer shook his head sharply.
“She can’t remove the blindfold. No one should see her eyes. They said that’s the condition. They were… terrified of her gaze. Wouldn’t even speak her name.”
The raven let out a low croak, shifting its feet but not leaving her shoulder. The woman still said nothing, but Lucien noticed—her breathing was calm. Too calm. Someone used to fear. Someone used to cages.
The man waited, tense. “What do you want done with her, sir?”
Lucien leaned back in his chair, gloved fingers tapping once against the armrest in thought. That tiny gesture was enough to make both men swallow hard—he only tapped when situations became delicate.
He studied her fully now:
Young. Slender. Fragile-looking. And yet she stood with the unnatural stillness of a creature that had already faced horrors and found them unremarkable. Even unable to see, she seemed to know exactly where she was—and who he was.
Not prey. Not helpless. Something else.
Lucien spoke quietly.
“They sent her here because they were afraid. And when powerful people are afraid, that is never random.”
He stood, every movement smooth and measured, and approached her without hesitation. The raven turned its head toward him, but did not attack. A subtle sign of permission.
He stopped a foot away.
He sensed it—not magic exactly, but an old resonance. A curse or pact perhaps. The faintest trace of power woven into her aura like spider silk.
Lucien’s voice dropped.
“What is she?”
The enforcer shook his head. “They wouldn’t say. Only that she couldn’t stay with them without… consequences.”
A long moment passed, heavy with unspoken weight.
Lucien finally answered, voice cool and decisive.
“Put her in the west wing guest suite. Remove her bindings but not the blindfold. No cell. No locks.”
Both men stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
“Sir… are you sure? She could—”
“If she were going to kill anyone,” Lucien interrupted, “she would have done so before arriving at my doorstep.”
The woman lifted her chin slightly—not to him, but as though she understood every word despite her silence.
Lucien turned away, returning to his desk.
“And order a medical check. If someone sent her to me broken, I will know who and why.”
The enforcer nodded nervously and began to escort her out. The raven fluttered once but remained by her face, its feathers brushing gently against her lips.
Just before the door closed, Lucien spoke again.
“And one more thing.”
They halted.
“No one is to remove that blindfold unless I give the order. No one.”
Silence. Then a quiet:
“Yes, sir.”
The door shut.
Lucien sat back in his chair, eyes thoughtful, tapping once again against the polished wood.