Sebastian
The apartment sat on the fourth floor of an unremarkable building registered under a false name, the one place in the entire city where I didn't have to perform a single thing for anyone. I let myself in with my key just after nine, the tension of the day still sitting heavy across my shoulders, and found Julian in the kitchen exactly where I always found him, sleeves rolled up, something simmering on the stove that smelled like garlic and rosemary and home.
"You look like a man who's had a day," Julian said, not turning from the stove, though I could hear the smile in his voice. "I saw the photo. Along with, apparently, everyone else with an internet connection."
"You saw it."
"Sebastian, my sous chef showed it to me on his phone during service. I believe the exact words he
