[WILLIAM]

⑅

A STRING OF UNCENSORED SWEAR WORDS WERE SPILLING OUT OF MY MOUTH as I chased the car down with all the strength I could muster.

She had just been there, right there, and now she was gone. I could see it vividly. Hell, it haunted me. Her cold, shivering figure standing in the pouring rain, letting herself be taken away.

Why couldn't I tell her the truth? I let myself be scared, and now that's all I am.

I am a man who is incapable of love—even the very feeling of it had been burned out of me so long ago. I should have told her the full sentence: I can't love you. But I want to. If I put myself through the torture of feeling emotion again, the only reason would be for her. She'd be the only reason. My reason. The reason.

I could only love a little, and she could have all of it.

It was a truth I hadn't realised until right now—chasing after a speeding car—well out of my reach.

"Lovey!" I yelled, but my legs gave out from under me.

Slipping on the wet cobblestone road, I crashed onto my chest, bones shuddering in pain. It felt like the first time I'd ever fallen. I'd never, never done something so egregious in the line of duty. I could feel the scrape marks against my arms, blistered into my skin as blood trickled into the drops of rain.

"Lovey!" I yelled again.

But the car was out of sight.

"No," I whimpered, stumbling onto my feet. "No, God, no."

Everything was falling apart. Everything. I wanted to cry, but I'd forgotten how. I wanted to tear the city down, brick, by brick, by brick, until she was found. I wanted to stop time itself. I wanted so much, and everything more, but I was nothing but a man in the pouring rain. A man with nothing.

Think, William, think. They had to have taken her somewhere recluse. Somewhere hidden. Unfortunately, Paris was crawling with hidden places. I'd be well-beyond my years before I found her, and she'd be well in harm's way. Think about where she could have gone.

The truth was, I didn't know where she could have gone.

But I knew where they would be.

Mori said there was an auction. They said they'd be at the auction. Where the auction was, I didn't know. The auction. Okay, the auction. Why can't I think straight? I couldn't tell if I was angry, sad, or nothing at all. I don't remember how to feel. If I had more time with her, maybe I could have learned.

Find Mori, I told myself. Find them. They'll know.

The night had already started to darken, and I knew I wouldn't have much time. I remembered them telling me they'd see Percy Kent there—that self-righteous coward of a man—which meant the Ashes must be there too. If I could find them, I'd find her.

Gathering what little strength I had, I began to run.

I ran blindly, as if the world was now blurry. To me, it was. I didn't need to feel to know what she meant to me—she was my mirror. My clarity. She told me when I was out of line. She told me when I was cruel. She told me the truth, and I took it all for granted.

So, I ran.

⚘

MORI LEFT their apartment an hour after I'd arrived. While I waited, I sat in a cafe across the street, tapping my feet anxiously against the ground. I kept thinking about that day on the train. Not the first time I saw her, but the first time she saw me. Somehow, it felt like she was the only one who had.

Your book, she'd said. Are you enjoying it?

I don't think I can bring myself to read that book again. I only want to read it for her. To her. There's no point in reading that book unless she's there to listen to it.

You're not a talkative one, she'd said.

I know.

God, I know.

I was such a fool then; a terrible, terrible fool. I sat across from her, naive to the future. I thought she was spoiled, rich, and snobby, and I hated following her around. But no, I know, if there's anything I know, it would be that I'd follow her for the rest of my life.

When Mori left the apartment, I almost didn't notice. If I hadn't heard the familiar clicking of their heels, I might have missed them entirely. Standing from my chair, I watched as they began to walk down the crowded pavement. Paris was alive in the night. It felt like the whole city was gearing up for the auction.

Hiding in the shadows, I followed them.

I followed them with the intent of finding Lovey at the end of it all. Even though I wasn't sure what was waiting for me, I went blindly.

When they came upon a large, stone building, I waited for them to go in. It was a business centre, but somewhere deep inside, there was a restaurant. Only the rich went to dine there, and I assumed they auctioned there too.

But Mori didn't sit at a table. Instead, they muttered something to the receptionist, and followed a waiter to the kitchens.

I have to get in there somehow.

I tried to devise a plan, but my brain was too busy replaying memories. I couldn't control it—not anymore. But time was running thin, so I had to wing it. It was risky, but it was the only choice I had.

It all went by in a blur.

Slipping into the restaurant, I stole a waiter's uniform from the quarter closets. My pants were black, so I only threw on the shirt, immediately making my way towards the kitchen. Inside, it was bustling and loud. People were running around, chopping things, and washing things. I felt my body relax—no one would notice a stranger here.

Picking up a plate from the table, I began to scour the area for where Mori could have gone.

"What are you doing?" Someone yelled. I saw a Maître d' badgering a waiter for loitering around. "Ils attendent! They're waiting!"

I watched with a silent gaze as the poor server grabbed a bottle of wine and scurried across the kitchen. They weren't going towards the main doors. Instead, they went into the meat freezer. Plate still in hand, I trailed behind them, watching through the window as they pushed on the farthest rack.

It opened.

A hidden door, I noted. Of course.

Once they'd disappeared from view, I quickly slipped into the freezer, shutting the metal door behind me. It was cold in the room, with only a small, yellow light illuminating the path, and it smelled like raw ham and bacon fat. Holding my breath, I pushed open the back rack and walked in.

I've done undercover-ops for a while, but for some reason, this time was nerve wracking. Because this time it matters, I told myself. Don't screw this up.

When I stepped out of the meat freezer, I found myself in a wine-cellar. It was dark, it smelled stale and musty, and the sounds of classical music drifted from around the corner. People were talking, but not in a friendly way. The hum of chatter was stiff, polite, and overly snobbish. Balancing my plate in my hand, I rolled my shoulders and kept walking.

"Hey, you. Come here." Not even two steps into the main room, and someone was already barking at me in French.

Turning my head, I noticed a man in a tuxedo heading towards me. His uniform was the same as the Maître d' in the kitchen—something told me he was the one for the auction. I made a list in my head of how many illegal outings he'd served down here. Somewhere in the hundreds. Paris was an old, old city.

"Who is that going to?" He asked, pointing at my plate. Before I could open my mouth, he cut me off. "Nevermind, give me that."

He snatched it out of my hand, just barely brushing against my fingers. I wanted to grab him by the throat and choke him.

"Table five needs wine. Bring it to them."

He stalked away, but I could feel his eyes on my back. I couldn't bring unnecessary attention to myself this early on—besides, I still had no idea where they could be hiding [y/n]. The most reasonable thing to do would be to bring some pretentious snobs their alcohol, and case the room in the process.

Straightening my uniform, I went back into the wine cellar and grabbed a bottle off the closest rack. Entering the main room again, I scanned the tables until I came upon table five.

"Your wine," I said, brandishing the bottle. "Is there anything else I can—"

I stopped mid-sentence.

At table five sat two people. I saw the scars on their faces, on their hands, and on their arms. On the right was a man, with a thick, bushy moustache, and on the left was a woman. She had a sickly sweet smile on her face, but even a child would know it was fake. They were in the middle of a conversation when I interrupted, and turned to stare at me coldly. But there was a glint in their eye—as if they knew something I didn't. But most importantly, I saw a symbol tattooed on their wrists. 

A triangle, a flame, and three words.

The Ashes.

"Didn't we specifically request for the waiters not to speak to us, darling?" Martha Ash sneered at her husband. "Someone's going to have to pay for that."

I felt the blood still in my veins. Suddenly, it was as if table five was the only one in the room. The only people in front of me. The only thing that mattered in the world.

"No, no, let him stay." Robert Ash smirked. He took the bottle from my hands. "He can entertain us until Mr. Kent returns."

So Kent is with them.

"Funny," the man continued. "Was that an English accent I heard?"

"Oh, you're right, darling, it was." They were both staring at me, as if I was an animal behind glass. As if they wanted to pick me apart piece, by piece, by piece. "You'd think a French waiter would be French."

"We should look into that."

"Oh yes, that'd be so much more fun."

"Should we ask his name?"

They both laughed—as if asking someone's name was hilarious. As if gawking about a stranger, as if they weren't there, was the funniest thing they'd ever done. But in a snap, they ceased their jovial attitude, and turned to look at me with stone-cold expressions. It was unnerving how in-sync they were.

And I knew something was wrong.

"Tell us, boy," Martha stilled. "What are you doing in France?"

I only looked at her, unsure of what to say. Being quick on my feet was part of my training, but it was different in this case. Say the wrong thing, they could kill you. Speak out of turn, and they'd do the same.

"I'm addressing you now," she said. "Speak."

I cleared my throat. "Making a living, Madame."

"You could make a living in England."

"I have family here."

"Do you, now?"

"Oui, Madame."

Something was very wrong. I could tell they didn't believe me, but were too intrigued to call me out on it just yet. I needed to devise an escape.

"I like how scared this one looks," Martha said to her husband. "Perhaps we should buy him for the auction."

Robert nodded. "He'd be more fun than Kent's girl, that's for sure."

Lovey. It took everything in me not to break character. Just hearing a mere implication of her was enough to spark something. I was losing control of the man I used to be, and it wasn't helping.

At that moment, the Ash duo looked as if they'd pounce on me—but something caught my eye at the corner of the room. From against the wall, Percy Kent himself emerged from a thin doorway, dusting his hands off in satisfaction. As the door began to close, I caught a glimpse of a dark, narrow hallway behind him.

There.

He began to near the table, and I knew I was losing my chance.

"If you'll excuse me, Madame and Monsieur," I said, bowing (unwillingly) to the two criminals in front of me. "I must attend to the other tables."

Before they could get out a response, I swiftly disappeared into the crowd of the main room. Percy Kent arrived just as I'd left; I prayed he hadn't seen me. I knew I didn't have much time before one of the three villains noticed I'd gone, so I had to move quickly.

Sticking to the walls, I stayed in the shadows until I reached the narrow door. She's in there, I reassured myself, I can feel it. Grabbing the handle, I swiftly slipped inside.

At the end of the narrow hallway was a flight of stairs. I ran, my footsteps echoing loudly against the stone ground. The stairs led to another hallway, but I saw a locked door to my right. There were no windows, but I had a feeling I knew who was being held captive inside. Raising my leg, I kicked the lock with so much force it went flying off the handle.

Throwing open the door, I saw her.

She was tied to a chair, ropes on her wrists and ankles, clothes dirty and scuffed. But she was beautiful. My heart wrenched. Always.

"William?" She said, as if in disbelief.

I couldn't even respond. I could only look at her, knowing she was there, and stand frozen in my spot. It felt like the world was still, and I could finally see. I'd memorised her face like I'd memorised Paris, and to me, she was the city itself.

And she smiled at me.

And it hit me all at the same time.

I would kill for that smile, and I would do anything to see it. It wrenched my stomach out of me, and left my heart bleeding in a way that shouldn't be possible. She made me feel things. She was the only emotion I had. Staring at her, I couldn't believe I'd ever been reserved in her presence. She'd always been beautiful to me.

I felt my feet begin to move, and for the first time in my life, I let my heart control me.

Slipping my knife out of my pocket, I flicked it open, kneeling in front of her. She was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear her. I was only focused on cutting the ropes from her hands. When the last seam had been split, I watched as they fell around her feet, limp and dirty.

"Lovey, I..." I began to say, but just like before, I had no words.

I saw it in the way she looked at me. Her eyes spoke the words I couldn't. If you can only give the world so much, they said, I'm just happy to be part of it. Rising back onto my feet, I placed my hands on the sides of her face and stared at her with a pleading look in my gaze.

"Are you okay?" I asked, checking for even the smallest scratch.

"I'm okay."

"I'll kill them."

There was fear in her voice, and it felt like scratches against my skin. "Just take me home, Will. I just want to go home."

"Ok," I nodded. "I'll take you home."

Where was home, I didn't know. Was it the room? Was it London? I didn't care.

My hands were still on her face, but I didn't want to move them. I just wanted to feel her underneath my fingers, knowing she was really here. That I was capable of touching someone on my own volition. That she'd made me less of a soldier, and more of a human.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and I realised I'd been staring at her.

"I just want to touch you," I said.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

It was only after it'd left my mouth that I realised what I'd said. Flinching back in embarrassment, I held up my hands defensively.

"Wait, no—no, I swear that's not what I meant," I fumbled.

"Always a creep, Creep."

"I'm serious, I swear." I urged. Was I...flustered? God, I hate this feeling. Make it stop. "I'm sorry."

She laughed, and I felt at ease. "Don't be."

I wanted to kiss her, but it wasn't the time. Grabbing her hand, I began to lead her out the doorway, ready to take her home. To wherever that was. I was always better at winging things.

But before we reached the door, it swung open.

A figure stood straight and stern, a cigarette in their hand, and a knife in the other. I recognized the infamous face immediately. I didn't feel at ease anymore. Lovey hands gripped into mine tighter, and I guided her behind my back.

Robert Ash stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. For a man who dealt with fire, he knew how to make a room seem cold. It was like life was being sucked out of the grey walls, and sucked out of us. He's dangerous, I reminded myself. And insane.

I watched as he took the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. He flicked the stub onto the ground as he looked at the two of us.

And then he smiled.

"Going somewhere?"

_

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