Meanwhile, Lucius moved like a shadow, a blur against the darkened streets of Wyfn-Garde, his vampire speed allowing him to cover ground swiftly — too swiftly, it seemed, because despite his efforts, Jean was nowhere.
The rain had long since begun to fall, a soft drizzle at first, now a steady downpour. It blurred the edges of the world, darkening the sky and drenching the stone roads. His black umbrella lay discarded somewhere behind him, forgotten the moment he caught the faintest trace of her scent — lavender and honey — clinging to the cold night air.
And then, he saw it.
A lone carriage.
Lucius rushed to it, the rain slipping down his face in sharp rivulets. His heart — or whatever hollow thing lay in its place — thudded hard against his ribs as he yanked open the door, only to find nothing. The interior was empty.
No Jean.
