As the words left my mouth, I slipped free and ran forward into the night. The cobblestone street was empty, gaslight scattering into broken reflections across the rain-soaked pavement. He chased after me, laughter easy and unrestrained, treating it like a harmless game between a man and his promised bride.
Only I knew it was not.
When he finally closed the distance, I suddenly slowed and turned back toward him. He froze for a split second, something flickering behind his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or the faint irritation of a hunter whose prey had stopped fleeing. I reached out, as if absentmindedly straightening his cuff, my fingertips brushing lightly over the hand that Silvia had just held in the motorcar, leaving behind a faint trace of moisture from the evening mist.
"We're here," I said quietly.
The door of the tailor's shop was pushed open, warm light spilling out like honey across the threshold.
Then everything stopped.
The figure standing before the three-paneled mirror was not me.