My fingers glide down the mirror's smooth surface, caressing his reflection. I want to reach out through and touch him physically, to bridge the gap between us, but the mirror remains unyielding, resisting my attempts to breach through. However, he takes deliberate and calculated steps forward, shedding any piece of clothing he has on in each step, an action that electrifies the air.

The bathroom's bright lights gradually dim, casting a serene blue afterglow like of a moon's soft illumination. The sensation of hot breath brushes against the skin on my neck, a shy embrace teases the fine hairs on the small of my back and the beautiful, hypnotising citrusy scent of mandarin, sweet and just the right note of floral envelops me, creating an intoxicating aroma that fills the air.

A melodic, romantic tune emanates from hidden speakers above and its gentle notes saturating the space around me. I close my eyes, then I surrender to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. It is gentle—the emotion—sensual and enticing that triggers an ambience that wraps around me like a delicate caress, igniting an alluring provocation. I feel his hair brush against the nape of my neck, the press of his lips on the rosette etched on my skin. And then, as if in response to this intimate symphony, the mirror opens up in an undulating ripple and my hand finally passes through, pulling my whole body inside.

I jolt up, the abruptness of my movement accompanied by a deep inhale of air. I rapidly clear the water from my eyes and face, the lingering taste of mandarin dancing on my tongue. Each breath comes in heavy gasps as I look around my bathroom, disbelief coursing through me. Startled, I accidentally knock over my phone into the water, the slow romantic song that was playing fading into oblivion.

"Kendi!" My mother's voice penetrates the bathroom door. Swiftly, I manoeuvre out of the bathtub, hastily dining a nightgown before limping outside.

"The guests are here. What took you so long?"

I rush to my closet and grab the first thing within my reach. "I'm sorry, I dozed off."

"You slept well into the morning. How are you still sleepy? Hurry, I'm about to serve us dinner."

"Sure, I'll limp my way down as soon as I can," I say, throwing on an oversized white t-shirt.

"No, not that! Wear something else, not a casual outfit to the park."

"Mum, I'm impressing no one. No one cares."

"I do and so does Mrs. Late. You know how she is with propriety and manners. She was practically raised in a castle."

I chuckle, seeing her point. "Fine! I'll put on something else. For you," I add matter-of-factly.

She smiles genuinely before leaving me to exchange the oversized t-shirt for a pair of black palazzo pants that cover my injured feet and a white cropped, harnessed suit jacket that adds a touch of sophistication, then I deftly swap my damp gauze for fresh ones. Having no time to dry my hair, I hastily twist it into a messy bun atop my head before hurrying out of the room.

As I enter the dining room, I find everyone already gathered. Joshua is engrossed in his iPad games, which my mother confiscates as she declares it's time to eat. Mrs. Late feigns interest in her phone while trying to eavesdrop on her son's conversation which incites uproarious laughter from my father.

My mother courteously pulls out a chair for me across from Cain, and I gratefully sink into it, awkwardly clearing my throat when the table suddenly grows silent. Mrs. Late watches me, her lips pouted and her eyebrows arching inquisitively.

"She got hurt earlier," my father responds, addressing the unspoken curiosity etched on Mrs. Late's expression.

I smile cheekily before it transforms into a frown when I notice Cain snickering. A grown man acting like a bloody child.

My mother finally finishes arranging the food on the table and invites us to serve ourselves. I pick the casserole dish. Cain watches me as I serve the food on my plate. An unexpected churn in my stomach forces me to stop, accompanied by an unsettling anxiety that causes me to fumble and drop the serving spoon.

"Oh, let me get that," my Mum says, chuckling nervously.

Cain sniggers. "Do I make you that anxious?"

I maintain my silence, recognising the propriety of not engaging in a potential insult exchange in front of his mother. Such exchanges tend to escalate quickly, and I'm determined not to drag Mrs. Late into any of them.

"You're wet!" he adds, his tone provocative at the same time informative.

In a knee-jerk response, however, I retort with a swiftness that surprises even me. "What? I'm not!"

Why would he say that?

"I mean your hair. It is dripping water onto your jacket," he clarifies, amused.

"Oh," I reply, embarrassed. It is certainly not because I just had a rather vivid dream involving him—naked in my bathroom, no less.

I take in a deep breath to regain my composure and muster a polite smile. "Excuse me," I utter, quickly rising from my seat and heading toward the exit.

Outside, a gust of cool air greets me as I slip on a coat. The brisk atmosphere seems almost a relief, a potential antidote to the unusual tension that had briefly permeated the dinner table. A cold shower should be in order, a literal cooling down of my senses, as well as a chance to collect my thoughts in solitude.

"A little trick goes a long way," that familiar sound with a chilling sweetness pierces the silence of the night. "Tells me everything I need to know."

Vianney!

"If you're looking for forgiveness, you're doing a terrible job," I respond without turning to face him. I exhale, my misty breath illuminated by the moon's glow.

He chuckles softly. "Nah, you'll get past it eventually. I'm too hard to resist."

He approaches me and halts abruptly, deliberately nudging my shoulder as he stands before me. "Cain, huh!" he says, voice dripping with a knowing tone.

"How long—have you been here?" I inquire, my gaze fixed ahead, distracting myself with the pretence of smoking.

"I never left," he admits unapologetically. "I prob, that's my job."

My eyes widen in realisation and he nods in response, confirming my suspicion. "Oh, you bastard," I spit as I create physical distance between us. I am now leaning against Cain's striking red car as I try to figure out how angry I am.

"Is there, was there or might there be a chemistry? History? Between you two?" He closes the distance once more, casually tucking his thumbs just above his waistline like a cowboy. His caramel-scented breath evokes my hunger, reminding me I've just walked out of dinner.

"You would love to know, wouldn't you?"

"Everyone might be displeased with us, the Corinthians, but we are at war with the Athenians. A dynamic that Iris would undoubtedly find intriguing."

Confused, I ask. "What are you talking about?"

"Your 'family friend' Mrs. Late, is not here for a friendly visit. It is possible that Cain's alleged interest in you has caught her attention, and she might not be keen on fostering such a connection."

I scoff, amused. "Are you jealous? Of Cain? Is that why you are coming up with these absurd theories, curious to find out if we had or didn't have a relationship?"

"I'm a satyr, remember? Revelry is in my nature, and the drama that unfolded in the shadows tonight has told me everything I needed to know."

"You crossed a line and invaded my privacy."

He tilts his head slightly and a smirk tugs at his lips. "I just dug out a fantasy that you tried so hard to bury, Kendi." His sweet voice is low, smooth and provoking. A whisper in the night with impure intentions. He cradles my jaw, the smoothness of his skin, gentle and warm against mine.

"You are not certain, though, whether you like him or not. Something happened between you two, didn't it?"

I swallow as he moves even closer, our breaths mingling in the same air space, creating an electric charge between us, I could really use that cold shower.

"There had to be a rivalry between you two. It is in the blood, a written rule in nature," he continues. "And the way I see it, why sprout another Romeo and Juliet history? There's so much of it going on when everything else can be simple."

His proximity is intoxicating, his voice a seduction of syllables that one by one tug at something within me. He coils his arm around my waist, pulling me into him until our bodies touch. We remain there, suspended in a moment that stretches, our breaths intertwining, our heartbeats in a synchronous rhythm, and our eyes lost in each other's. There is a huge lump in my throat formed by anxiety, danger, and excitement. I want to give in to whatever this is, but can I trust a lustful satyr?

"I'm a recruit, a task assigned to me by the goddess of the rainbow herself. You have to convince your father to invite Cain into The Order."

"What?" I pull back, my eyes still focused on his.

"We—you could use his help."

"I don't need his help."

"You will, soon. I understand your father is the head of The Order, but Iris has done more in a few weeks than he could ever do if he tried the last two decades, and believe me, Kendi, with how things are going, we could use as much help as we could get."

I study him, wondering what else he knows. I haven't told anyone about the threat, and it is clear he's withholding something from me.

"Listen, someone is about to come out here to check on you any moment now. I need you to persuade your father to invite Cain tonight, during dinner."

"Why is my father the head of the Order, Vianney? What aren't you telling me?"

"I don't have enough time to explain. Just know this; the circumstances have shifted. Your father's position is in jeopardy, and there's much more at stake than you know. You'll need an ally on your side."

"Cain?"

"It's far much bigger than that. I need to go now. I'll stop by later when Iris has scheduled a meeting."

"Vianney, wait! I have something to tell you."

Before I can utter another word, the front door swings open, revealing my father, worry colouring his features. "Kendi, everyone's waiting for you. Are you okay?"

"Dad, we need to talk."

Vianney briefly emerges from the shadows and casts a glance at my father before disappearing once more, an ability I can't quite comprehend. Is he present, absent or in between? Did he just leave or is he lingering, eager to eavesdrop on my conversation?

"Who's that? Where'd he go?"

"He's part of The Order. The same one you put as an afterthought."

"That's not fair, Kendi..."

"It doesn't matter right now," I interrupt, limping closer towards him. "The Order was threatened and no one else knows. I need you to subtly hint at The Order and invite Cain to join—now during dinner."

"No! It is a family agenda. Cain will not be used to benefit a lonely goddess."

"I'm not asking, Dad. He has to be. Your position is unstable right now and you are the only one with the power to introduce anyone to this. Don't you get it? Iris is doing the same thing you did when you decided what was best for Mum and me, remember? The difference is, Valentine is dead and hopeless, while you have your chance to redeem yourself. Imagine if it was Mum going through all this trouble for you, to save you."

He looks at me, his expression a mixture of surprise and wounded feelings as if I've touched a raw nerve. It strikes a chord: my father's determination to protect his family, now mirrored in my plea. He was chosen for a reason, a single strand of thread in a much bigger one woven for Iris.

"We can live a simple life, away from bruised feet, trauma-induced adventure and fleeting ghosts."

"Because one day you found yourself asleep in a fountain somewhere in London, drunk to the bone while your wife waited for you at home. You were given a second chance by the same deity you are reluctant to assist."

He contemplates in silence then with a soft nod, he agrees. He motions for me to take his hand as he leads me back inside the house. "You do argue sense in me, Kendi," he acknowledges, smiling. "Is that all I need to do?"

"Iris is organising a meeting. Maybe we will find out what she is planning then and where we all fit in in this fabric of supernatural adventure you were entrusted to accomplish. And by the way, that ghost warned me about Mrs. Late. She's up to no good, apparently."

"Figured as much. You know she did keep on asking about you a lot and if we've ever been to Greece."

"Huh, that's interesting," I quip, as my father helps me with my coat.

"You can fill me in further after dinner while we orient Cain. I promise to help, love. I really do."

"Thanks, Dad."

We take our seats back at the dining table. Dinner is over and my mother is serving up dessert. I sink in my seat as two pairs of eyes are kept fixated on me. One is more curious and displeased, like I threw up on her shoes once and she's never recovered from the ordeal and the other pair are more inquisitive, probing and maybe even intrigued.

"You are what, four years younger than my son, Kendi? Can you remember any history you learnt in high school?"

I furrow my eyebrows. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My niece recently found out about her heritage, you see, and she won't stop asking what type of war Athenians had with the Corinthians. I mean, it is nothing really, but I thought maybe you could grace me with some insights. I can barely remember anything from way back then," she says as she laughs with a deliberate intention. Her voice is in a beautiful alto tone, not too deep and still not too high. It sits in the middle, sophisticated and grand, rich with modesty that really doesn't attribute to her personality.

"I—I can't..."

"But what have you been up to? How did you get hurt?"

"Must have sleepwalked. It is a common diagnosis, you should know it, being the best shrink in London."

"Kendi," Cain warns, clearly hinting at my sarcasm.

"Oh, no," she says, calming her son with a gentle tap on his arm, "I like the flatter. You're right, on both. If it is a frequent thing, you should come by my office to properly diagnose you."

"No, thank you. I'm good."

"Anyway," my father begins, trying to break the awkward tension that is getting thicker with every counter I throw at the woman. "Cain, I—uh—am interested in having you join a certain practice I'm starting."

Cain nods with uncertainty, trying to swallow the big chunk of pie he just put in his mouth before he can speak. "What's it about?"

"Love," my father replies blatantly. Both Cain and I choke at his unsubtle revelation.

My mother sits down next to me. "How don't I know about this?"

"It was just a thought—until now. I could use Cain's help."

"I want to help too," Joshua cheers joyfully.

"Sure! The more the merrier, right?"

"I'd be happy to, Dr. McKenzie. When do we start?"

"Why don't you hang back after dinner for a brief orientation? Martha, you wouldn't mind waiting, would you?"

She smiles sarcastically as she continues eating her dessert. My mother then sparks a conversation that they all engage in except Cain, Joshua and I. Joshua excuses himself and runs upstairs, and so it is just us.

"Are you sick? You've barely touched your dessert," Cain asks.

"Do you even care?" I ask, the exhaustion in my voice palpable. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but I possess no appetite to even take a single bite.

Cain responds casually, "No, just thought I should ask. Mind if I have some of your pie?"

I push my plate across the table, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. "Have it all!"

"Kendi, you won't eat?" my mother concerned, interjects.

"I don't have the appetite," I say, excusing myself once more.

Leaving the dining table, I head to my father's office. I can't bear to eat in the presence of a man I just had a fantastical encounter with, a man I believe I strongly dislike. Moreover, he's an Athenian, a tribe that has historically been at odds with the Corinthians.

A knock at the door prompts me to turn. "Your father said I should wait here. I didn't think you'd be..."

"I don't have the energy to scowl at you like a monkey. We can stand in silence," I say, then turn back my gaze at the picture of us on my father's desk.

I am overwhelmed. Everywhere I go, he seems to appear. It's as if the universe is orchestrating these encounters, and I'm just a puppet in this game.

"I probably deserve it. You do too, I mean, it takes two to tango." He chuckles, breaking the silence with a hint of nostalgia.

I snigger, the tension easing slightly. "Not now, Cain, please."

He attempts further to steer the conversation down memory lane, "You remember when you used to call me Beige?"

"Yeah, because you were always bland like an old lady." My tone is equally bland and dismissive.

He continues, his voice tinged with reminiscence. "And I used to carry my mother's beige bags whenever we were together, and you'd make a lot of fun of me."

"A son is his mother's best friend," I offer a mockful retort.

He takes a step back, realising our conversation isn't landing as he'd hoped. "What happened to us?"

I offer a vague explanation, "Nature, I hear," my voice barely a whisper.

Cain's tone grows contemplative, "Do you know that's why I bought a red car? Dipping my toes just outside my comfort zone."

"Can we not do this? Be all nice to each other, reminiscing our past. I don't want this," I gesture at the both of us. "This is not for me."

"Yeah, uh o—kay. As you wish. Should I just..." he replies, dejected, trailing off and gesturing toward the door.

Just then, my father hurries inside, his frustration evident. Mrs. Late could not have been an easy person to get rid of.

"Good, your mother's gone. Welcome to The Order of Valentine, Cain."