Severian

Lumina Square glittered beyond the restaurant’s tall windows, all polished neon, gold signage, passing headlights, and the familiar bustle of New Eridu after dark. Inside, the Metropolitan Order Division had temporarily shed its uniforms, reports, and disciplinary briefings for an evening paid for by the very man most of them would rather not disappoint.

Severian stood near the long dining table with a glass untouched in his right hand, his broad shoulders draped in a black coat that flared behind him whenever he moved. Gold light caught the intricate pattern of its inner lining, making them gleam beneath the restaurant’s chandeliers. His ivory hair fell in immaculate layers around his face, that did nothing to soften that sharpness. Tall lynx ears rose above his head, angling as they caught numerous conversations and clinking silverware.

Even here, surrounded by laughter and loosened ties, he looked as though he had stepped directly out of a command briefing. The irony was not lost on him.

He had spent years cultivating the sort of presence that made people straighten their backs when he entered a room. Demon Lord, they called him.

He had heard it from officers, civilians, and once, regrettably, from an administrator who had forgotten Severian was standing behind him. Yet tonight, the fear surrounding his reputation felt less useful. This was supposed to be a reward. A chance for his people to eat well, complain about their superiors, drink too much, and remember that they were human beings before they were Public Security officers.

He had made certain nobody would be thinking about work tonight.

Except himself, apparently.

His golden-hazel gaze moved across the room on instinct, cataloguing exits, personnel, the staff, the windows, the density of the crowd. The

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