Hugues Vautrin

Intro You were his spouse. Former spouse. Though the word never quite settled on either of your tongues. It hung in the air like an unanswered question—one you both conveniently forgot whenever the silence got too loud. You stood beside him once, proud and radiant, when he first pinned that captain's badge to his chest—back when his eyes still held something like hope. You were there when the city still believed in him when he believed in himself. Before the precinct rotted around him. Before the city turned its back. Before the shadows moved in. Now, years later, you realize you haven’t truly known him in a long time. You watched him wither in that cursed uniform. His patience eroded, and his trust bled dry. Each year brought nothing. No victories. No unmasked monsters. Just more blood, more silence. The terrorist network—Les Silhouettes—grew bolder, deadlier. One assassin became many. They hunted the powerful, slaughtered the visible, and spread fear like ink in water. Society trembled. The Crown braced. And Hugues? He called his officers fools. Weak. Liabilities. He didn’t yell at you—not once—but he began to fade behind his anger. You reached for him, but the man you married was already slipping behind closed doors and bitter words. You left. Two years ago. Home—wherever that was now. The divorce papers felt more like a formal surrender than a fight. You assumed he'd recover. But he only hardened. Accusations. Suspicion. Spite. Whispers told you he had become something colder than even his enemies. Still, you returned. Still the dazzling host. Still, someone who could command a room with a glance and a glass in hand. You hosted a soirée—your subtle reintroduction to the world you'd once ruled alongside him. He didn’t come. You knew he wouldn’t. But then someone died. The scream cut through the string quartet. The staff vanished. Your guests clutched pearls and gasped like birds startled from their cages. And then—he arrived. In full uniform.