Crazy Awakening: My luck can copy Talents.

He told her about Nikolás’s contract.

About the details in Marina’s notebook.

About all five victims having felt "watched" before they disappeared.

About the woman in the long black coat who had stood on the corner outside Marina’s coffee shop three nights in a row before she vanished.

About how the timing lined up perfectly with Sariel supposedly arriving in the city "as an exchange student."

About how he no longer knew what to think about Sariel.

About how every time he tried to divide the situation into two separate pieces—the investigation and the emotional mess—the two somehow bled back together.

He told her about Marina’s boxes of photographs.

About the way Nikolás had cried while talking.

About how, that night after returning to the Alastor building, Adrián had opened one of the boxes and found a picture of Marina at eight years old standing beside her father, smiling with an ice cream cone in her hand.

And how he had needed to close the box almost immediately because it reminded him too much of an old photograph of himself with Elena.

Rhea listened.

Without interrupting.

Without joking.

Without rushing him.

She simply took the occasional small sip of wine, her golden eyes fixed on Adrián’s face.

When he finally finished, she remained silent for a moment.

Then she spoke in a voice much softer than the one she normally used.

"Vega."

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a difficult question?"

"...Okay."

"Are you afraid you won’t find anything about Marina..."

She paused.

"...or are you afraid you will find something about Marina, but nothing about Elena?"

Adrián went completely still.

He lowered his hand from Rhea’s waist.

Then rubbed both hands over his face.

"..."

"It’s a fair question, darling. I’m not asking to hurt you. I’m asking because you’ve spent the entire week focusing on this with an intensity that isn’t entirely proportional to the contract."

She watched him carefully.

"You’re looking for something bigger."

A pause.

"You’re looking for Elena through Marina."

Adrián said nothing.

"And that’s fine. But you’re also preparing yourself for the possibility that you’ll find answers for Marina’s father and none for yourself."

Her voice softened even more.

"And that possibility terrifies you."

"..."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Rhea nodded once.

"That’s honest. Thank you."

She lowered her glass and set it beside her on the table.

Then she reached out and gently moved a strand of hair that had fallen across Adrián’s forehead.

The gesture lasted two seconds.

Casual.

Tender.

So unlike Rhea Alastor that Adrián registered it almost as though it were happening to somebody else.

"Listen to me," she said. "I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told Ishtar, and probably shouldn’t be telling you."

"Okay."

"I looked for people too."

Adrián’s eyes shifted toward her.

"A long time ago. Before I became who I am now. Before the wine, the heels, and the little empire."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"And I learned something they don’t usually teach new reincarnates anymore because apparently it makes them too soft."

"..."

"But I’m going to tell you anyway."

Rhea looked directly into his eyes.

"The search will change you more than the result ever will."

Adrián remained silent.

"If you find Elena, you’ll be a different person from the one who started looking for her."

She paused.

"If you don’t find her, you’ll still be a different person."

Her golden eyes didn’t leave his.

"Either way, the boy who began searching for her isn’t going to reach the end."

Adrián breathed slowly.

"He’s already gone."

A beat.

"He changed."

Another.

"He became you."

Rhea leaned back slightly against the edge of the table.

"And the version of you standing here now is going to keep changing too. Accept that. Don’t fight it."

Her expression sharpened.

"Use it."

Adrián let out a long breath.

Rhea watched him.

"I’m going to ask you something else," she said. "Based on everything you just told me about the five victims, what’s the first thing that stands out to you?"

"Besides what?"

"The lunar pattern. Mercier Street. Their demographic profiles. Put all of that aside."

She tilted her head.

"What else do those five women have in common?"

Adrián thought.

"They were all watched beforehand."

"Yes. But we already know that. What else?"

"...They all worked."

"Good. Where?"

"Coffee shops. Boutiques. One worked at a nursery. One at a medical office."

Rhea smiled slightly.

"Vega. Think carefully. What do those five workplaces have in common?"

Adrián frowned.

He thought.

Coffee shop.

Boutique.

Nursery.

Medical office.

And the fifth—

Elena, who had worked at...

"...a pharmacy," Adrián said quietly.

"Correct."

"Uh. Okay. And?"

"Vega. Think about the type of business."

Rhea counted them off.

"Coffee shop. Boutique. Nursery. Medical office. Pharmacy."

Her eyes stayed on him.

"What do they all have in common?"

Adrián stared at her.

Then looked down at the floor.

Then back up.

"...They all have suppliers."

"Correct."

"Wholesale suppliers. Distributors. Regular deliveries."

"Correct."

Adrián’s eyes narrowed.

"Are you suggesting all five victims could’ve been identified through a common supplier?"

"I’m suggesting the suppliers are worth checking."

Rhea picked up her wineglass again.

"If the same distributor serviced all five businesses during the relevant time periods, that distributor could have had access to employee lists."

Adrián went still.

"And employees working for suppliers have perfectly legitimate reasons to enter and leave those businesses without anyone questioning them."

Adrián processed that.

"..."

"It’s a hypothesis," Rhea said. "I don’t know if it’s true. But it’s an investigative angle private detectives tend to miss because private detectives think about killers."

She took a sip.

"Not logistics."

"Rhea."

"Yes?"

"You’re..."

He searched for the word.

"You’re a lot smarter than you look."

Rhea stared at him.

"Vega. I look exactly as intelligent as I am."

"..."

"You’re the one making assumptions."

"Okay."

"Besides," Rhea added with suspiciously studied casualness, "the city has three major pharmaceutical distributors that supply neighborhood businesses around the university district."

Adrián looked at her.

"One is headquartered outside the city in the northern industrial district. The other two operate inside the urban area, but they’re smaller."

She took another sip.

"I’d start with the large one."

"The pharmaceutical distributor in the industrial district?"

"It’s a theory. Not a certainty."

Rhea shrugged lightly.

"But if I were investigating this, I’d send someone."

Adrián nodded slowly.

"I’ll go."

"Yes."

Rhea smiled pleasantly.

"And you will not be going alone."

Adrián paused.

"Kael and Ishtar are going with you."

"Rhea—"

"Not negotiable."

Her smile remained exactly where it was.

"Industrial district on the outskirts of the city. Potential supernatural activity. No immediate backup."

She lifted one eyebrow.

"I’m not allowing that."

"Okay."

"We’ll organize the visit sometime this week. Not today."

"Why not?"

"You’re not ready yet. You need more practice with the Mask."

"Okay."

Silence.

Rhea took another sip of wine.

Looked down at the glass.

Then looked back at Adrián with a different expression.

More playful.

Less analytical.

"Vega."

"Yeah?"

"Want to try it?"

"What?"

"The wine."

"I don’t drink."

"Everyone says that until they try a wine aged for more than seven hundred years."

Adrián stared at her.

"...Seven hundred?"

"Seven hundred and thirty-two, to be precise."

Rhea lifted the glass slightly.

"1292 vintage. Loire Valley. Stored in my family’s cellars since they were first opened. We only drink it on specific occasions."

Adrián looked around the empty university pool hall.

Then back at her.

"Why are you drinking it with me in a university pool hall?"

"Because this isn’t a specific occasion."

A pause.

"It’s specific boredom."

Adrián laughed.

Actually laughed.

For the first time all week.

Rhea produced a second wineglass—and Adrián didn’t even bother asking where she had gotten it from because at this point it no longer seemed relevant—and filled it from a bottle that she had also, apparently, materialized from nowhere.

She held it out to him.

Adrián took the glass.

Looked at it.

"Okay. One sip."

"A small one. It’s intense."

Adrián tasted it.

His brain didn’t quite know how to process the experience.

It tasted ancient.

Mineral.

Sweet, but not exactly sweet.

More like depth.

Black plum.

Leather.

Something almost funerary, in a good way.

Like a piece of time he had never lived through had somehow ended up inside his mouth.

He lowered the glass.

"...Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, it’s..."

He searched for the word.

"It’s good."

Rhea looked personally offended.

"It’s magnificent, darling. Good is an insult."

"Sorry."

Adrián looked at the wine again.

"It’s magnificent."

Rhea smiled with genuine satisfaction.

And there, inside a university pool hall beneath hanging lamps illuminating the green felt, with two glasses of seven-hundred-year-old demonic wine between them, with Rhea sitting on the edge of Table Four and a strand of wine-red hair falling over her shoulder—

something between them loosened.

Just a little.

"Rhea."

"Yes?"

"Tell me about this wine."

"Oh, darling."

She looked delighted.

"Are you sure?"

"Why?"

"I can talk about wine for hours. It is literally one of three subjects that cost me a friendship in the sixteenth century."

Adrián blinked.

"Ishtar is forbidden from letting me get started."

"Tell me."

And Rhea did.

Rhea slowly swirled the wine around her glass.

"The problem is that people talk about Loire wine as though it’s all the same."

Adrián looked at her.

"Isn’t it?"

Rhea froze.

"Adrián."

"What?"

"Never say that in front of me again."

"I was just asking."

"That’s like saying all demons are the same because we have horns."

"You don’t have horns."

"That is not the point."

Rhea raised the glass toward the light.

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