The Paradox of Us. Chapter 3

The winding streets of Montmartre smelled of fresh bread and turpentine, of rain-slicked stone and the faint metallic tang of the funicular cables overhead. Lucian's polished oxfords clicked against the cobblestones as he climbed, each step sending a jolt through his still-tender ribs from the crash landing of his last temporal jump. The chronometer beneath his sleeve burned now, its pulse irregular and feverish against his skin.

Seventeen hours, six minutes remaining.

He found the address scrawled on the cocktail napkin—a crumbling artist's studio above a patisserie, its blue door peeling like old parchment. The brass knocker was shaped like a serpent swallowing its own tail.

The door swung open before his knuckles could connect.

She stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the golden haze of a dozen beeswax candles. Gone was the silver sequined dress—now she wore a man's paint-splattered shirt, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing forearms dusted with what looked like gold leaf. A smudge of cerulean blue marked her left cheekbone.

"You're getting faster," she observed, stepping aside to let him enter. "Last time it took you three jumps to find me."

The studio was chaos incarnate—canvases stacked against every wall, some finished, others barely sketched. A half-empty bottle of absinthe sat beside a palette of dried paints. But what caught Lucian's breath was the far wall, covered in what appeared to be temporal equations written in looping charcoal, interspersed with sketches of...

Him.

Him in Victorian London, rain dripping from his hat brim. Him in the jazz club, fingers tight around a cocktail glass. Him in eras he hadn't even visited yet, his face aging and then somehow growing younger again in a grotesque reverse chronology.

"You're the anomaly," Lucian realized aloud, his voice rough.

The chronometer gave a violent shudder against his wrist.

She moved to an easel where a fresh canvas waited, picking up a brush between her teeth as she twisted her hair into a messy knot. "Funny," she said around the brush, "I was about to say the same about you." Dipping the brush into a smear of crimson, she made the first stroke—a perfect match for the scar Lucian knew hid beneath his shirt collar, though he'd never told her about it.

"How do you know about—"

The explosion rocked the building before he could finish. Glass shattered. The candles snuffed out as one. In the sudden darkness, her hand found his, fingers intertwining with the ease of long practice.

"They're coming," she whispered, and for the first time, Lucian heard real fear in her voice.

Outside, the sound of booted feet echoed on the cobblestones. A voice shouted in a language Lucian didn't recognize—but somehow understood.

"Find the paradox. Eliminate both iterations."

The chronometer's pulse spiked into the red.

Eight hours, twelve minutes.

She pressed something cold and metallic into Lucian's palm—a twin chronometer, its face cracked but still glowing faintly blue. "Run," she urged, pushing him toward the back staircase. "And whatever you do, don't trust me next time."

As Lucian stumbled into the alley, the last thing he saw was her silhouetted in the studio's blown-out window, calmly reloading a pistol he hadn't known she possessed.

Read the first Chapter here: The Paradox of Us. Chapter 1 : A Love That Defies Time

Read the second Chapter here: The Paradox of Us. Chapter 2 : The Second Encounter.

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