He shrugs casually. “Then I guess I’ll just have to kidnap you.”
I stare at him.
“…What?”
He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks toward me like this is the most reasonable solution in the world.
“Come on.”
“Lucien—”
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he says lightly. “Which means I have approximately one night left to convince you not to disappear.” He stops right in front of me. “And I intend to use it.”
I cross my arms, trying not to smile. “And what exactly does this kidnapping involve?”
A slow smile appears on his face. “You’ll see.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
Before we leave, Lucien walks over to the reception desk and picks up two small slips of paper and a pen. He folds them once and slips them into his coat pocket without explaining. He gestures toward the elevator. For a moment I hesitate. Then, against my better judgment, I follow him.
Outside, the evening air is cool, the city humming with the soft rush of traffic and distant voices. Lucien leads me toward a car parked along the curb. It’s a rental, but not the kind most people picture. A sleek black Mercedes, low and quiet, the kind of car that looks expensive without needing to prove it. Lucien opens the passenger door for me and I slide inside. The interior smells faintly of leather and something clean and unfamiliar.
“You rent modestly,” I say.
He shuts the door and walks around the front of the car. “I didn’t feel like attracting attention.”
“Driving a Mercedes usually does the opposite.”
He starts the engine. “Only if you’re looking.”
The car moves smoothly through the city, weaving between glowing traffic lights and rows of buildings reflecting the last pieces of daylight. Neither of us talks much. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy with something unspoken. Streetlights streak past the windows. The sky deepens from gray to dark blue as the city slowly loosens its grip around us. Eventually the buildings thin out and the road curves along the edge of the river.
Lucien pulls into a small gravel lot tucked behind a row of trees.
“This is it,” he says.
We step out of the car. At first I don’t see anything, just the quiet rustle of leaves and the cool breath of the river air. Then I hear it. Water moving slowly against the bank, soft voices and faint flicker of light through the trees.
Lucien gestures toward a narrow path. “Come on.”
We walk between the trees, the ground crunching softly beneath our steps. Then the path opens. And I stop. The river stretches wide and dark in front of us, reflecting the last traces of twilight. Along the shore, dozens of lanterns glow in warm gold light, scattered like fallen stars. People stand quietly near the water’s edge, writing on small slips of paper before placing them inside delicate floating lanterns. One by one, the lanterns are released. They drift slowly across the surface of the river,their reflections trembling in the dark water, tiny constellations moving with the current.
The entire scene feels hushed. Like everyone here understands this moment means something. I step closer to the water. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
Lucien stands beside me, his hands resting loosely in his coat pockets. “This happens every fall,” he says quietly.
I glance at him. “What is it?”
He watches the lanterns for a moment before answering. “People come here when they’re ready to let something go.” He nods toward the water. “They write down whatever they’re carrying… regrets, memories, sometimes names.”
Another lantern drifts past us, glowing softly as it floats into the darkness.
“And then?” I ask.
Lucien’s eyes follow the light moving across the river. “Then they let the river take it.”