“Is this you, Ms. Harper? Or is the universe merely playing a very cruel, very resonant trick on my memory?”

The voice didn’t come from Lucian’s lips at first. It came from the high-fidelity speakers integrated into the mahogany walls of the executive suite. The recording was old, slightly grainy, but the soul behind the sound was unmistakable. It was a woman’s whisper, stripped of the professional “Celine” gloss, raw with the kind of intimacy that only exists in the dead of night.

“Lucian… if you’re listening to this, it means the bandages are off. It means you can see the sun again. And it means… I’m gone.”

Celeste stood...