Chapter Five

"Madame Toussaint," Captain Castlebury began, fixing his eyes on hers from across the office with an intensity that made her uneasy. "You've shared your story, but there's something you're not telling me. Something you fear. I can sense it."

Juliette hesitated. Of course she did. How could she explain what she herself didn't understand? She couldn't, so she settled for half-truth. "Captain, it's the Revivalists. The mere mention of them sends a chill down my spine. They are ruthless, and their return… It terrifies me. I fear for my safety and the safety of those around me. And I fear that this man who followed me may somehow be connected to them."

Castlebury leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "You mentioned feeling a pull, a call to find me. Why, Madame Toussaint? What connection do you think we have?"

The question hung in the air, and Juliette felt a twinge of vulnerability. "I don't know, captain. It's inexplicable. But you… you seem familiar, like I should know you. Have we met before?"

Castlebury's gaze lingered on her face. "I can't shake the feeling that I know you too, like I said earlier. Your eyes, the way you move… It's as if you hold a piece of my past."

Juliette's pulse quickened, uncertainty clouding her thoughts. "I assure you, captain, I am just a modiste from France. I hold no pieces to anything. Nor do I have any secrets that could be of importance to you or anyone else."

He continued to watch her, a furrow forming between his brows. "There's more to this, Madame Toussaint. I can feel it. Tell me the truth. What is it that you're not saying?"

A moment of silence lingered before she finally spoke. "I don't remember my life beyond three years ago."

"You mentioned that."

"But it's all a haze, captain. You don't understand! I start each morning with no recollection of who I was before waking up in that alley. And the flashes… the fear! I can't explain it. All of it taunts me cruelly."

Castlebury's eyes softened. "Flashes? In your mind? What do you see?"

Juliette went quiet and thought long and seriously about what—and how much—to share. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she glanced into his green eyes and then recounted the snippets of darkness, fear, and blood that haunted her. "I see glimpses, but they're fragmented. I don't know what they mean or where they come from. And the unease, the fear… It's always there, lurking. Men laughing horribly, glass shattering, the smell of fire and smoke."

The captain sat and leaned back in his chair, his gaze narrowing to a piercing intensity. Those liquid green eyes locked on to hers, and Juliette felt a tug deep in her belly. The weight of his scrutiny seemed to unravel layers of her that she didn't know she had, exposing vulnerabilities she hadn't anticipated.

"Madame Toussaint," he said, "there's something more her that I can sense, that my Bow Street instincts alert me to. Whatever connection you feel that binds us goes beyond the man who followed you today and your fear of the Revivalists. Tell me, do you truly remember nothing before three years ago? Perhaps another tavern in another part of London? Say… Seven Dials?"

Juliette swallowed hard, her palms instantly going damp at the name, but she emphatically shook her head. "Captain, I swear to you, my memory is a blank canvas beyond that point. It's as if my life began the moment I woke up in that alley, speaking French, and surrounded by unfamiliar faces, but in possession of modiste shop that apparently belonged to me." That truth she skirted around. She'd never told a soul about the bag of money she'd possessed when she awoke in that alley—and as much as she felt drawn to Captain Castlebury, she would keep that information private for now.

"Juliette, these flashes you speak of… They might hold the key. We need to uncover the truth, for both our sakes. When you're ready, you'll confide in me."

As he spoke, Juliette couldn't ignore the magnetic pull, the strange familiarity that lingered in the air. She shifted her gaze away from his penetrating stare, allowing herself a moment to take in the details of his office. The leather chair she occupied, the soft blanket over her shoulders, the flickering gas lamps casting shadows on the walls, and the subtle scent of old paper—all seemed to suit the man perfectly.

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and then decided to redirect the conversation.

"Captain," she began, "this office of yours—it holds the air of a man deeply entrenched in his duty. It makes me wonder about the items that surround you. What's the story behind that weathered map on the wall? And the worn-out book there, on the corner of your desk? They must hold tales of a life well lived."

Castlebury followed her gaze to the map and the book, then offered a small, almost rueful smile. "The map is a relic from my early days with the Runners—a reminder of the streets I swore to protect. It's marked with the boundary of my first official patrol route. The book is a gift from my brother, Crawford. It's a volume of Shakespeare, weathered but cherished. Something to cling to in the hard moments."

As he spoke, Juliette noted the weariness etched on his handsome face. Lines of experience and perhaps a touch of cynicism shadowed his features. She couldn't help but be drawn to the vulnerability beneath the fa?ade of strength. "Captain," she continued, attempting to keep the conversation moving, "how do you manage the weight of the city on your shoulders? It must be exhausting, yet you seem resolute."

Castlebury smirked, his eyes glinting with a knowing amusement. Juliette's attempt to shift his focus clearly hadn't gone unnoticed. "Well, madame," he began, "I suppose managing the city's burdens comes with the territory. It's not a task for the faint of heart, but it keeps me on my toes. Now, since you're so keen on the stories in this room, what tales do you think these walls hold?"

Juliette breathed in relief, feeling a bit of tension ease from her shoulders. "Oh, captain, I imagine there are countless stories hidden within these walls. Stories of triumph, heartache, and perhaps a touch of scandal. The kind of tales that linger, like the echoes of footsteps in an empty street. Harlots and bandits and madmen."

Catamount's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "You have a poetic way of looking at things. But perhaps you're onto something. Every corner of this city has a story to tell, and as a Runner, I aim to uncover those tales and bring justice to the forefront."

As they bantered about the stories within the office, she couldn't get over the feeling that there was more to Catamount's gaze, a familiarity that danced at the edges of her memory. Like she knew it, that intense green gaze of his, intimately. But how could that be?

Juliette's mind was suddenly invaded by an intense, vivid flash. A memory—or a figment of her imagination—of a hard, unforgiving mouth pressed against hers, kissing her senseless. The image left her breathless, her heart racing. And that demanding mouth belonged to the Bow Street captain sitting across from her.

Her gaze shot back to Captain Castlebury, who, in that moment, seemed to have an uncanny awareness of the turmoil within her. The unspoken connection between them crackled in the air, leaving Juliette feeling exposed, as if he could unravel the secrets locked within her mind.

She couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his jacket. Averting her eyes, she inhaled deeply, absorbing the subtle scent of leather and ink that enveloped the room.

Trying to dispel the escalating tension, Juliette shifted her focus to the worn leather chair across from her, as if it held the answers she sought. "And what about this chair, captain? It looks like it has a tale or two to tell."

He followed her gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This old thing has been witness to many a late-night deliberation and a fair share of contemplation. It's comfortable, if nothing else."

Juliette raised an eyebrow. "Contemplation, you say? What thoughts trouble the mind of a seasoned Runner, I wonder?"

Catamount's expression grew thoughtful. "The past has a way of lingering, Miss Toussaint. It leaves its mark, and sometimes, no amount of running, Bow Street or otherwise, can escape it."

Sensing the weight of his unspoken sorrows, she hesitated for a moment before pressing on. "And yet here you are, facing those shadows head-on. I'd say it takes a special kind of strength."

His gaze met hers, the green depths revealing a mixture of resilience and vulnerability. "Strength is a necessity in this line of work, but it doesn't make one immune to the echoes of the past."

"Perhaps," she mused, "sometimes it takes more strength to confront those echoes than to chase new mysteries."

As he leaned forward, Juliette couldn't help but feel a flutter in her belly. His voice, only a moment ago composed and professional, dipped into a warm and intimate register. "Julie," he murmured, the name slipping from his lips like a caress. The unexpected familiarity of the name caught Juliette off guard, sending a heated shiver down her spine. A charged silence hung in the air, and he gazed at her with a depth of recognition that bordered on unsettling. "Julie," he repeated, his voice laden with tenderness and longing.

Grappling with a sudden, wholly unexpected surge of emotions, Juliette found herself torn between a desire to lean into the intimacy of the moment and the need to correct him and assert her own identity. She drew a steadying breath. "Captain, it's Juliette," she said. "Not Julie. Juliette."

Taking a moment, she carefully removed and folded the captain's blanket, leaning forward to set it on his desk, her hand lingering on the still-warm fabric. As she rose from her seat, the folds of her elegant rose silk dress cascaded around her in a soft, fluid dance. The material clung to her in alluring simplicity, accentuating her curves with a subtle grace. A delicate lace hem skimmed the edges, adding a touch of refined femininity.

His gaze lingered on her, his eyes tracing the lines of her silhouette with an intensity that went beyond the usual scrutiny. Something unspoken passed behind his eyes. Something hot and hungry and haunted.

She met his gaze. "Good day, captain," she said, her voice steady despite the shaking in her core.

With that, she turned and left his office, feeling the weight of his intense, lingering gaze trailing after her.

"Good day, Julie."

Juliette's steps faltered for a moment at the door upon her hearing that familiar yet misplaced name. "Juliette," she corrected him again without glancing over her shoulder.

With that, she swept down the corridor and left behind the enigmatic captain with his liquid green eyes and the nagging feeling that they were somehow connected.