Chapter 32 - Thoughts of Isa

Lucian left Ayra’s room with his hands tucked in his pockets and let the door click shut behind him. 

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, exhaling a long, shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Relief coursed through him like a drug. 

He took a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged as if he had been holding himself upright through sheer willpower for days. Which he had been, in a way. 

The relief coursing through him was almost palpable. He had finally found her - or at least, someone he was now convinced was Isa.

There was no one thing that convinced him, and perhaps he had rushed to a conclusion, but heaven knows he believed it with all his heart. 

His lips quirked upward in a rare, unguarded smile - small, almost imperceptible, but simply happy.  

He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back as his thoughts raced. Every moment they’d just shared replayed in his mind like a precious memory he wanted to hoard.

Ayra was so much like Isa it wasn't even funny. 

Lucian’s lips curved further upward, breaking into a full on boyish grin.

That smile felt strange on his face, foreign after years of carefully crafted neutrality. As the Director of the Orrery Consortium, he had quickly learned to keep his expression indifferent and unreadable. 

A totally readable countenance would make subordinates think they could pull a fast one on you while rivals would chew you up and spit you out first chance they get. 

Yet, he didn’t push it away. No, he let himself feel the victory, let it settle in his chest and spread warmth through his usually rigid demeanor.

“Isa,” he whispered to himself, savoring the name. Even saying it aloud now felt like a victory, a reaffirmation that all those years of searching, of scheming and enduring, had not been in vain.

The name hummed ever so lovingly in his mind. It lingered on his tongue like a secret he wanted to shout but couldn’t; so instead he whispered it softly, testing it, savoring it. 

“Isa.” 

It felt right, like it had always belonged there, like she had always belonged with him.

No. Not 'like'. She had always belonged with him. 

With a small chuckle, Lucian made his way to the small kitchenette in the safehouse’s common area. His movements were unusually erratic and no wonder.

His mind clouded by a cocktail of joy and disbelief. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a half-full bottle of whiskey and a glass.

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he poured a generous measure into a glass and raised it to eye level. The amber liquid caught the dim light, its reflection shifting and unsteady. Much like his own emotions, really.

Then he paused, the glass hovering just below his lips. A memory surfaced. One long forgotten, buried in the sands of time and rigours of managing the Consortium. 

Isa talking about his guardian's “whiskey habit,” her voice soft but vaguely displeased. With the man, not the whiskey. 

“He would live longer if he stopped that,” she had said more than once, her voice tinged with mock sternness.

He did not. Stop or live longer that is. Lucian's father had put a bullet through his head. 

“You drink too much of that stuff,” Isa had said once, laughing as she stole the glass from his hand. He has been snatching bottles of whiskey from his guardian's stash since he was ten. “Someday, it’ll catch up to you.”

The memory made him pause, the glass halfway to his lips. He stared at the liquid as though it were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. 

But then, with a shrug, he took a small sip, his excitement momentarily overriding the old memory.

The whiskey burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire coursing through his veins. Lucian set the glass down and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes as he let the emotions wash over him.

Then the memory of her hit him like a punch to the gut or a barrelling truck. So vivid it made his breath hitch. 

Lucian set the glass down without taking a second sip, shaking his head as if to clear the phantom of her laughter. 

Perhaps he didn’t need the drink. Not tonight.

He chuckled softly once more.

The man leaned against the counter, gripping its edge with both hands as he tried to steady himself. It was all too much. 

For years, he had been chasing whispers, the faintest threads of hope. And now, she was here, just a few doors down. 

The thought made his chest tighten, a strange mix of joy and something sharper and heavier. Fear, maybe. Or guilt.

Guilt. 

He squashed it and turned his thoughts back to Isa. Or Ayra if you will. Both different names for the same person.  

In retrospect, how ridiculous must he have looked, sitting across from her, trying to act unaffected when his heart had been pounding against his ribcage like a caged animal. He didn't think she had noticed. 

In fact, he didn't think she had noticed much. 

A pall was cast over his features as a flicker of doubt crept into his mind.

Ayra hadn’t recognized him. It hurt, but then he blinked and pushed the thought aside, unwilling to let it taint the euphoria of the moment.

“She’s been through a lot,” he murmured to himself. Perhaps he believed the sound of his own voice would lend credibility to the thought. 

He wasn't sure why he was speaking aloud. “It’s been years. She’s bound to be guarded, confused. It’s only natural.”

He reasoned with himself that her lack of recognition could easily be explained. 

Perhaps the trauma had affected her memory, or perhaps she had buried the past so deeply that it no longer surfaced in her day-to-day life. Whatever the reason, Lucian was determined not to dwell on it.

And by the way, it had been a decade plus since they had last seen each other. Eleven years to be precise. 

Eleven years was a lot of time, and while Ayra still looked quite a bit like herself from a decade ago, he had changed a lot. So he pushed that thought aside. 

For now, he wanted to bask in the possibility, the hope that Isa - his Isa - was here. He would give her time, he decided. Time to come around, to remember who she was and who he was to her. 

He did not want to force her. That would be atrocious. No, she would find out and remember on her own. He was sure she would. The love between the both of them was just that strong.