Lucian slowly let go of the locket.

It fell back against my chest with a soft, metallic clink.

He turned his back to me and walked toward the window, looking out into the rain-slicked darkness of the estate grounds.

“Nothing in this city is a coincidence,” he said.

“I don’t know what you are implying,” I said.

“I am not implying anything yet,” he replied, turning back to face me.

His face was a mask of cold resolve once more.

“But you will stay here. For your own safety, and because I need to find out who you really are.”

“I have a job, Lucian. I have a life outside of this house.”

“Your life at the Black Orchid is paused,” he said coldly.

He walked back to the dresser, picked up the leather-bound book, and slid the photograph inside.

He tucked the book under his arm.

“Get some sleep,” he said as he reached the door.

“We will talk more in the morning.”

He stepped out into the hallway, and the heavy door clicked shut behind him.