Vienna’s Naschmarkt smelled like coffee, citrus, wet pavement, and too many people trying to reinvent themselves through expensive olives.

Seraphina walked half a step behind Lucien through the crowded market aisles wearing borrowed civilian clothes and the worst disguise she’d ever participated in professionally.

“You cannot seriously think this works,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Lucien glanced sideways at her while adjusting the paper grocery bag tucked beneath one arm.

“You’re the one glaring at everyone like an armed tax auditor.”

“I’m a hunter.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Which is why I asked you to stop wearing boots that sound emotionally aggressive.”

She looked down at the black combat boots anyway.

“They’re practical.”

“They’re terrifying.”

“That sounds like weakness.”

A faint smile almost appeared again.

God.

Those tiny expressions were becoming dangerously distracting in daylight.

Around them, the market moved through ordinary afternoon chaos completely unaware that one of the oldest vampires in Europe currently debated produce quality beside the fruit stands.

People brushed past them carrying flowers and grocery bags while musicians played badly somewhere near the tram entrance.

Normal life.

Seraphina kept waiting for it to feel fake around Lucien.

Instead, annoyingly, he blended into ordinary human spaces far too well.

Not because he pretended to be human.

Because he paid attention.

He noticed elderly women struggling with shopping carts and automatically moved aside. Thanked cashiers. Held doors open.

Little things.

Human things.

The kind monsters in Blackthorn stories never bothered learning.

That inconsistency continued ruining her emotionally.

“You’re staring again,” Lucien observed while examining tomatoes.

“You’re buying vegetables.”

“Yes.”

“You’re immortal.”

“I’m also trying soup this week.”

“That sentence shouldn’t exist.”

Lucien selected three tomatoes with suspicious concentration before placing them into the paper bag.

“You think immortality removes domestic responsibilities?”

“I think immortality should remove grocery shopping.”

“That’s how you end up living entirely on wine and regret.”

Seraphina blinked once.

“That sounded autobiographical.”

“It was.”

Despite herself, she laughed softly.

A nearby elderly vendor immediately looked up from arranging herbs and smiled knowingly at both of them.

Ah.

No.

Absolutely not.

The woman leaned across her market stand toward Seraphina conspiratorially.

“Your boyfriend looks tired,” she said in German. “You should feed him properly.”

Seraphina nearly inhaled an olive incorrectly.

“He’s not—”

Lucien answered at the exact same time.

“She’s trying.”

The old woman laughed warmly while handing Lucien extra basil leaves.

“For free,” she declared. “You two look like you need kindness.”

Seraphina stared at him as they walked away from the stand.

“You did that on purpose.”

Lucien looked genuinely innocent.

“She seemed nice.”

“She thought we were together.”

“She also thought my soup plans deserved support.”

“That is not the issue.”

A slow smile appeared this time.

Real.

Unmistakable.

And somehow worse in daylight.

Because sunlight softened him enough to look less like a nightmare and more like a man who accidentally survived too long.

“You’re blushing,” Lucien observed.

“I’m considering homicide.”

“That’s usually your version of flirting.”

She hated how difficult it had become to deny that.

The market crowd thickened near the flower stalls ahead while cold autumn wind carried music and roasted chestnut smoke through the narrow aisles.

Seraphina adjusted the scarf higher around her throat automatically.

Lucien noticed immediately.

“You’re cold.”

“It’s October.”

“You’re still recovering.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you enjoy worrying.”

Lucien’s gaze drifted briefly toward the crowded market around them.

Then back to her.

“I enjoy knowing you’re alive.”

The answer arrived so casually that she almost walked directly into a produce display.

Lucien steadied her automatically with one hand against the small of her back.

Cold fingers.

Gentle pressure.

Gone too quickly afterward.

Seraphina’s pulse stumbled anyway.

Catastrophic.

They continued deeper into the market while civilians moved around them in loud ordinary waves of conversation and shopping bags.

Then Seraphina noticed something strange.

People kept moving away from two men near the northern entrance.

Not dramatically.

Subtly.

Avoiding eye contact.

Changing walking paths.

Fear.

Hunter coats.

Blackthorn insignias hidden beneath civilian jackets.

Her stomach tightened instantly.

Lucien followed her attention without turning his head.

“I saw them.”

“They’re tracking sanctuary supply routes.”

“Yes.”

One of the hunters grabbed a young vendor by the arm hard enough to visibly frighten him.

Publicly.

No restraint.

The vendor answered something quickly in German while trying unsuccessfully to pull free.

The hunter tightened his grip anyway.

Around them, civilians pretended not to notice.

Seraphina felt something cold settle beneath her ribs.

Because this part was familiar.

Authority weaponized casually.

Fear normalized publicly.

And for the first time in her life—

she found herself standing outside it instead of inside it.

Lucien watched the interaction quietly.

“They’ve gotten bolder lately.”

Seraphina’s jaw tightened.

“They weren’t trained like this.”

“No,” Lucien agreed softly. “They weren’t.”

The younger hunter finally released the terrified vendor with visible irritation before both men disappeared deeper into the crowd.

The market slowly resumed breathing afterward.

But not fully.

Fear lingered.

Seraphina noticed it now.

The way civilians lowered their voices when hunters passed.

The way people avoided eye contact instead of seeking protection.

God.

How long had this been happening without her seeing it?

“You look angry,” Lucien murmured.

“I am angry.”

“Good.”

She looked sharply toward him.

“That sounded manipulative.”

“It sounded relieved.”

The honesty disarmed her immediately.

Again.

Always honesty with him.

Lucien adjusted the grocery bag slightly beneath one arm before nodding toward a smaller side street branching off the market.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“There’s a bakery nearby.”

“You really are domestic now.”

“I contain multitudes.”

They turned down the quieter side street together while market noise softened behind them into distant music and conversation.

The bakery windows glowed warm gold against the cold afternoon while fresh bread scents drifted out each time the door opened.

Normal.

Everything around Lucien kept becoming horribly, dangerously normal.

A young cashier behind the counter smiled immediately when they entered.

“Table for two?”

Seraphina opened her mouth.

Lucien answered first.

“Yes.”

Traitor.

They sat near the fogged front windows while snow began drifting lightly across Vienna streets outside.

Lucien removed his gloves carefully beside the coffee cups the waitress brought them.

Seraphina watched him without meaning to.

The small habits.

The way he wrapped long fingers around warm ceramic despite not needing heat.

The way he listened to surrounding conversations automatically like someone permanently aware of every room.

“You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you’re trying to solve a murder.”

“That’s because you’re emotionally suspicious.”

A faint laugh escaped him.

Real again.

Soft enough that several nearby customers glanced over instinctively before smiling at them like ordinary people watching another couple flirt over coffee.

Seraphina felt heat crawl immediately up her throat.

Lucien noticed that too.

Unfortunately.

Outside the bakery windows, snow continued falling softly over the city while ordinary life moved quietly around them.

And for one dangerous moment—

sitting across from him with coffee warming her hands and market noise fading into the background—

Seraphina forgot completely which one of them was supposed to be the monster.