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“Don’t.”
Adrien was used to orders — stabbing and stabbing and stabbing, like streetlights piercing through the shudders. There was no blood left in his veins, in the hollow pump of his heart.
Felix, on the other hand, was bristling with… something. Never had he sought the embrace of liquid fire; never had he found solace in a puff of opium.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Perfect, pristine fingers fell to the mahogany desk — lingering by the carafe. “You keep the good stuff for your clients.”
“This is not meant for drinking.” His cousin ruffled through a heavy file, in search of… something. They were not quite sure what all those papers were yet. “Turns out it's the only way to be taken seriously in this business: expensive scotch, expensive crystal, expensive everything. A dreadful continuation of our childhood.”
But Adrien remembered the sturdy cabochon, the burnt amber beckoning them close. And Felix’s every act held a secret meaning.
“So,” they swerved, model smile flashing to the rescue. “When does the crime-fighting start?”
“Have you watered the plants already?”
“Yes.”
“And memorised my agenda, like I told you too?”
“Of course. But, hmm…”
“Then you’re free for the evening.” The gargantuan armchair would have swallowed anyone else, but not Felix — never Felix. “I still need to iron out some details. Don’t wait up.”
“Right.” A pause. “And tomorrow, we can discuss my first case, right?”
“I'm not sure I want you near my files yet. Your library is a real capharnaum.”
“You can’t be serious.”
But he was, of course. Felix’s smiles were rare these days, and his jokes —
Well, he did not joke anymore: only quips remained, polished and cruel and unsheathed at the first hint of a threat.
“I thought I was going to be your assistant,” Adrien groaned, thumbs escaping their pockets. “Not your secretary.”
“Secretaries are the pillar of any well-run organisation.” Duusu emerged from thin air, perfectly camouflaged in the camaieu of beiges and browns: unfolding her neck, she met her guardian's hand. “Let’s be honest, my favourite cousin — Nathalie is the only reason your father’s empire has yet to implode.”
“But I could help.” He needed a purpose more than he needed air: he needed something to do, something of substance, or he would spiral once more. “I could get you some intel. Tongues tend to loosen around me.”
“I’ve been in this business for close to five years.” Felix scratched his companion’s chin, fingers soft and eyes sharp as ever. “As you can imagine, I’ve weaved quite the web throughout the city.”
“But —”
“Once again: you’re free for the evening.” The dismissal came out harsher — peremptory. “Make sure to get some rest. Oh, and Adrien?”
They were already halfway through the door, mouth twisted into a pout.
“Tomorrow, we shall get you some actual, decent clothes.”
“What’s wrong with mine?”
“Oh, please. They look like you picked them straight out of a dumpster.” Cautious hands shut the file, flattening against the cardboard. “As much as I admire your sudden rebellion — professionalism takes precedence, always. No point in dwelling on the past.”
But Felix fiddled with his ring, and the carafe glimmered still.