Chapter 18 Evie #4
Harbor’s Edge looks like it’s been dipped in glitter and set on fire.
Lanterns everywhere. Booths packed tight.
The boardwalk is a river of bodies and sugar and noise.
Kids with glowing wands. Tourists with tote bags.
Locals acting like they aren’t impressed by the crowds while absolutely being impressed by the crowds.
And everywhere I turn, I catch pieces of Kaia like my brain is a magnet and she’s the metal.
A flash of her hair on a stage monitor.
A soundcheck note that makes the air feel like it’s bracing.
A poster. A banner. A giant LED screen looping promo footage where she smiles like she wasn’t just in my bed last night, eating pancakes with me and Gran this morning.
I tell myself: Don’t look. My eyes do it anyway.
I’m not working today. So today I do the festival the way I used to. I do it with Grandma.
She insists on lipstick because she’s apparently decided Harbor Lights is a formal occasion. I help her into her cardigan, fix her hair, and take her down the street at a pace that makes the town blur by like a movie set.
She keeps stopping to admire things like they’re miracles.
“Look at those lanterns,” she says, delighted. “They’re bigger this year.”
“Because corporate sponsorship,” I mutter.
Grandma pats my arm. “Because people still try.”
I don’t answer that.
We pass the main stage at the far end of the grounds and the crowd thickens like the air itself wants to lean closer. It's different than past Harbor Lights. There are more security barriers, and the big speaker towers have decorative wraps.
There’s a rehearsal happening.
Not full concert, just camera blocking and press clips. But the stage lights are up, and the LED screens are live, and my stomach flips when I see her.
Kaia stands center, perfect posture, hair swept back like the wind knows better than to touch her without permission. Matching outfits on all four girls—dark, sharp, glittering in a way that reads like armor pretending to be fashion.
Jules is laughing at something off-camera, bouncing on her toes like she’s made of electricity. Mina stands close to Kaia with that gentle intensity she has, listening like she’s catching echoes no one else hears. Remy looks almost bored.
Kaia turns her head—
And for half a heartbeat, her eyes are on the crowd, searching.
I duck behind a man holding a funnel cake the size of his head like I’m in an action movie and not a grown woman hiding behind fried dough.
Grandma squints up at the stage. “Is that the Rhee girl?”
I force my voice into neutral. “Yeah.”
“She looks successful,” Grandma says, pleased.
“Mm,” I manage.
Kaia laughs onstage at something, bright and practiced. The sound goes through me anyway.
My wrist warms faintly, like the binding knows I’m looking.
Or maybe it’s just my pulse.
We move on. I steer Grandma toward the calmer booths, toward the places where the noise isn’t so sharp it feels like it’s scraping my nerves.
But even when we’re buying candied nuts, even when Grandma is arguing with a vendor about the price of kettle corn like it’s a moral issue, I keep catching Kaia in pieces.
A clip on a TV in a booth.
Her voice drifting over the festival speakers during a “local pride” promo.
A press photographer’s camera shutter snapping rapid-fire as she steps offstage briefly, surrounded by handlers and security.
Every time I think our eyes might meet across the crowd, something interrupts.
A fan screams.
A security guard shifts.
A camera swings.
A child runs between us.
It’s like the universe keeps slamming doors in my face and laughing.
By mid-afternoon, Grandma gets tired. Her energy burns bright and then drops all at once, like a lantern running out of oil.
I bring her home, settle her in her chair, make sure she takes her meds, and she pats my hand with a look that’s too knowing.
“Go,” she says.
“Go where?” I ask, already tense.
She smiles. “Go be young.”
“I’m not—”
“Evie,” she says, and it’s the tone that has ended wars in this house.
I exhale through my nose. “Fine.”
I leave the house with my hoodie up and my hands shoved in my pockets like I’m trying to disguise the fact that I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not responsible for someone else.
The festival hums louder now, closer to evening. The lantern frames overhead are ready. The scent of the ocean mixes with fried sugar and smoke and sweat. A radio somewhere plays the Harbor Lights jingle and my skin prickles again, that wrong familiarity skittering under my ribs.
Come back, come back—
People sing along without thinking.
I hate them for it.
I hate the song more.
At least after tonight the town will be safe again. No more demons.
I’m passing the games when someone catches my sleeve.
I whip around, ready to bite—
And it’s Kaia.
Kaia herself, hood up, cap low, sunglasses on like she thinks she can cosplay as a normal person and fool the universe.
Security hovers a few steps back, pretending to be tourists. One guy is holding a corn dog with the rigid seriousness of a man who has been told do not look like security.
Kaia’s fingers let go of my sleeve instantly.
Her voice is low. “Hi.”
My heart slams so hard it feels like it rattles my ribs.
I force my face into something unimpressed. “Do you usually grab civilians in public now or am I just special?”
Kaia’s mouth twitches. “Just you.”
Those words should not make my stomach do that.
Behind her, the security guy with the corn dog shifts, eyes flicking around the crowd. People drift past us in a glittery blur, laughing, shouting, eating, living.
Kaia keeps her focus on me like the whole festival is background noise.
“I’m allowed a small break,” she says, like she’s reciting a permission slip. “‘Controlled morale window.’ Blaire’s words. Not mine.”
“Sounds… romantic,” I say.
Kaia’s eyes soften. “It’s the best I can do.”
My wrist warms faintly under the skin. Like it’s annoyed I’m still near her.
I ignore it.
Kaia clears her throat. “Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel with me?”
I blink. “What? Really?”
She repeats it. "Yes, really, do you want to ride with me?"
I stare at her, trying to figure out if this is a joke or a trap or some elaborate PR thing that’s going to end with my face on a fan account captioned KAIA RHEE WITH MYSTERY GIRL??
Kaia reads my expression and says quickly, “No cameras. Security can stand by the gate. Blaire bribed the operator to pause one cycle for… light testing.”
“Light testing,” I repeat.
Kaia nods, solemn. “Very serious.”
A laugh almost escapes me. I clamp down on it like it’s contraband. Kaia’s gaze holds mine, steady, and her hand reaches out, fingers brushing mine.
“Evie… please?”
The word please does something unfair to me.
I cross my arms. “You’re asking me on a Ferris wheel date during a demon festival.”
Kaia’s mouth twists. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad,” I say, but my voice is already softer and a smile tugs on my lips.
Kaia leans in a fraction, lowering her voice further. “I keep losing you in crowds.”
My throat tightens.
Kaia keeps going, quiet and blunt. “And I don’t want to.”
I stare at her, angry at the ache rising in my chest.
Then, I glance at the Ferris wheel. It turns slowly, lights blinking, enclosed cars swinging gently in the wind. People inside laugh and press their faces to the glass.
A normal thing.
A small-town thing.
A thing Kaia and I used to do with cheap tickets and sweaty hands and stupid hopes.
My chest aches with something I don’t want to name.
Then I sigh, like I’m giving in to gravity. “Fine.”
Kaia’s eyes flash bright. Relief. Hope. That stupid, dangerous warmth.
“Fine?” she repeats, like she needs to hear it again.
“Yes, fine…" I meet her gaze, cheeks warming. "I would like that.”
We walk to the Ferris wheel with security trailing at a careful distance, forming an invisible bubble around us. People look, but not the way they’d look if they knew. Kaia keeps her head down. I keep my hands in my pockets.
At the gate, the operator lifts the little chain and waves us through like this is totally normal and not a logistical nightmare for a celebrity.
Kaia waits until I step into the enclosed car first, then follows me inside.
The door shuts with a clunk and the outside noise muffles instantly—festival chaos turned into distant, harmless sound. The car sways as it starts to rise.
Kaia sits beside me, not across. Close enough that our knees brush when the wheel jolts.
I stare out the window because looking at her feels like stepping into a fire.
Harbor’s Edge spreads below us in lantern light and glitter. Booths like bright little islands. The main stage in the distance like a mouth waiting to sing.
Kaia’s voice is quiet. “This looks like how it used to.”
I swallow. “Except for the corporate branding everywhere.”
Kaia huffs a small laugh. “Yeah.”
The wheel lifts us higher. For a second, it really does feel like the old days—cheap tickets, sweaty hands, Kaia trying to look fearless and failing, me pretending I wasn’t nervous about being that high up and lying badly.
I glance at her despite myself. Kaia’s eyes are already on me.
“Stop doing that,” I mutter.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you’re starving,” I say, and immediately regret it because Kaia’s breath catches.
She smiles, small and honest, then leans closer to me. “Maybe I am.”
My pulse trips. Up close, she looks less like the posters. More like the girl who used to laugh too loud on this pier and shove her hands into my pockets because hers were cold.
We reach the top and the wheel pauses. The car rocks gently, suspended above the glowing festival. At the highest point, the festival spreads below us like a constellation. The ocean beyond is black and endless, reflecting faint lights like scattered stars.
Kaia inhales like she’s about to say something important.
Instead she says, “Can I kiss you again?”
My heart punches my ribs.
I should say no.