Page 123 of The Immortal’s Mark

She doesn’t move or speak. My fellow Original simply watches me.

The world around us continues as if nothing has changed—voices rising, footsteps passing, life moving uninterrupted—but the moment between us locks into something still. Heavy.

I straighten, every muscle tightening as I cross the distance between us.

She doesn’t bother to meet me halfway.

“Charmian,” I greet evenly.

“Desmond.” Her gaze flicks past me to the second floor of the café.

She saw her.

“Have a nice cup of coffee?” she asks, voice calm.

Too calm.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

It’s a poor lie.

Charmian’s eyes slide back to mine, sharp with something I can’t quite place. Not intrigue.

Worse.

Understanding.

“And here I thought you were the cautious one,” she murmurs.

I give up the pretense. “You’re reading too much into nothing. I just had coffee with an ordinary young woman.”

“Ordinary?” Her brow lifts.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “She’s a tourist, Charmian. That’s all.”

She studies me for a long moment, her gaze searching in a way that makes it feel like she’s peeling back layers I’d rather keep buried.

“You felt nothing for her?”

The question hits hard, but the lie that leaves my lips hurts harder.

“I felt nothing.”

And now that I’ve placed the masking on Darcie’s mind, she feels nothing either.

Silence stretches between us.

“Interesting.” The single word lands like a verdict.

A chill slides down my spine, tangling with my pain.

Charmian doesn’t sound convinced, and that’s dangerous.

For Darcie.

For all of us.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re mistaken.”