Viv returned to the hotel as if she were being chased—not by footsteps but by the invisible weight of chance. Duke Pudding was tucked safely in her arms, his bib still crooked, his lazy stare in stark contrast to her taut shoulders. The city outside buzzed with its reckless rhythm, but Viv kept her eyes down, walking quickly until the door to their room clicked shut behind her. Only then did she breathe out.

If she stayed out there one more minute, she was sure the universe would throw her another accident—another ghost she hadn't asked to face.

She dropped the cat gently on the carpet, kicked off her shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her stomach knotted, empty but stubbornly refusing the memory of that bitter croissant. Breakfast was ruined. The whole morning was ruined.

So she lay down. She didn't mean to sleep, but the ceiling blurred into white noise until her eyes finally slid shut.

When Daphne came back around noon, the first thing she saw was Viv sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging limply off the side, Duke Pudding nestled into the crook of her legs. For a moment, Daph smiled. It was such a domestic, almost tender sight. But then she remembered: she had told Viv not to hole up here like a recluse.

She set her handbag on the desk with a soft thud. "Don't tell me you ignored me and slept all morning," she said, a mock-scolding lilt in her voice.

Viv stirred, blinking groggily, hair sticking up in a disheveled mess. "...I went out," she mumbled.

Daph arched a brow, surprised. "Really? You? Voluntarily?"

Viv sat up slowly, rubbing her face. She looked tired, but her gaze flickered in that way Daphne knew too well: something had happened. Viv wasn't built to hide it from her.

"What happened?" Daph asked, gentler now.

Viv hesitated for a beat, then sighed. "I ran into Pen. At a café."

The room seemed to still for a moment. Daphne kept her expression mild, folding her jacket over the chair with deliberate calm. "I see," she said softly.

Viv leaned back against the headboard, staring at the wall. "She sat down. Talked. Asked questions. Accused me. I didn't... sugarcoat anything."

There was no triumph in her voice, only a weary flatness. Almost guilt, but buried under annoyance.

Daph crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, studying her. "And how do you feel about it?"

Viv's lips thinned. "Like I should've stayed in the hotel."

That tugged a quiet laugh from Daphne. But beneath her calm exterior, something unsettled stirred—a shadow of unease that she shoved back down before it could color her voice. No point letting Viv see that.

"Well," Daph said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Viv's face, "too late to change that. But it's lunchtime, and if you think I'm letting you hide in this room all day after skipping breakfast, you're wrong. Come on."

Viv exhaled heavily, but when Daphne tugged at her hand, she didn't resist.

The restaurant was a quiet bistro tucked away from the louder streets, warm with the smell of garlic and wine. Viv sat across from Daph, cardigan sleeves pushed over her hands, studying the menu with deadpan seriousness.

"You're glaring at that salad like it personally offended you," Daph teased.

Viv glanced up. "It's overpriced."

"And yet, you'll eat it because you skipped breakfast," Daph countered smoothly.

Viv allowed a faint twitch of her lips. "You're insufferable."

Lunch was unremarkable in dishes but steadying in mood. They talked about small things: Daph's morning meeting, Duke Pudding's antics, the ridiculous neon signs plastered across the street. Each word, each laugh, smoothed away the residual weight of the morning until the air between them felt lighter again.

From there, Daphne steered them through the city's pulse. A bookstore with dusty shelves where Viv's fingers hovered reverently over spines; a clothing boutique where Daph insisted Viv try on a soft cream sweater that made her look deceptively gentle.

Viv grumbled, but the sweater stayed in the shopping bag.

As the day wore into dusk, they strolled through a riverside promenade. Students and couples dotted the path, neon lights bleeding into the water. Daph looped her arm through Viv's, tugging her closer whenever Viv slowed to glance too long at a stray cat or a peculiar building.

By the time they returned to the hotel, it was already past ten. Viv was flushed with the day's fatigue, but her eyes carried a softened brightness. For a rare moment, she had forgotten New York was a mission ground. She had simply been Viv—Daph's Viv—living, not surviving.

Across the ocean, the mood could not have been more different.

In a shadowed London flat, Lux leaned over her laptop. Her contact's latest delivery flashed on the screen: blurred shots of Viv and Daphne in New York. At a café. On a crowded street. And then—Lux's breath stalled.

One photo, taken just outside the hotel entrance: Viv and Daphne locked in a kiss. Not a casual brush of lips, but deep, messy, unashamed. Daphne's hand cradling Viv's jaw, Viv leaning into her like the rest of the world had gone dark.

Lux froze, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk until her knuckles blanched. The image seared her vision, dragging her backward in time—back to the prison visiting room, the cheap plastic chairs, the harsh fluorescent lights. Daphne, pretending to be Viv's stepsister. The way she had leaned in under the guard's indifferent gaze. That kiss. The cunning slip of a tongue, the indifference mingled with a casual acceptance from Viv.

She had almost convinced herself that it was a strange bond between step-sisters.

And this? They're no longer playing the stepsister act.

Her nails dug crescents into her palm as she clicked to zoom, though the pixels only fractured further. It didn't matter. The intimacy was unmistakable. This wasn't tradecraft. This wasn't survival.

"They're still doing it," she whispered, venom threading her tone. "The same fucking thing. Only this time... it's real."

The cigarette burned down between her fingers, ash spilling onto the desk unnoticed. Lux leaned back, eyes cold, lips curling into a broken half-smile.

"Enjoy your little rerun, Vivienne," she murmured. "But you should know—old scenes never play the same way twice."

She snapped the laptop shut. The room fell silent, except for the sound of her pulse hammering in her ears.