Chapter 31 #2
The words settle over me like a blanket I don’t know if I deserve. I take his hand anyway, because refusing feels like I’m rejecting more than just a photo. I’m just not sure what I’m saying yes to.
His fingers brush my waist as he pulls me closer, and I swear my scent stirs immediately with vanilla deepening, citrus brightening until it threads through the air. The flash pops, the crowd cheers, and I can barely hear over my own pulse.
When it’s done, he leans close enough that his breath touches the shell of my ear.
“You realize you just made their feed blow up, right?”
I roll my eyes, trying not to show how hot my face feels. “You’re trending, space-captain.”
He glances down at me with that small, infuriating smile. “If I’m trending, it’s because of the mermaid on my arm.”
Cassian fake-gags. “I’m begging you both to stop flirting in public.”
Rowan chuckles, shaking his head. “Not gonna work, Cass.”
We start moving again, weaving through crowds of people carrying foam swords and neon wigs. Everywhere is a maze of booths and hanging lights. Vendors sell everything from glowing katana replicas to hand-painted pins.
A table of anime plushies catches my eye—rows of wide-eyed creatures smiling like they know something I don’t.
There’s a little octopus with a bow tie that hits somewhere soft and stupid behind my ribs.
Not because I need it, but because it’s harmless.
Safe. The kind of thing that doesn’t ask for anything back.
Eli notices. “You want one?”
“I want all of them,” I say, and it comes out more honest than I expect. “Sharky’s gotta have more than Churro as a playmate.”
“Pick one.”
I reach for the octopus, then pull my hand back. “I’m good. Don’t want to have to carry all of them right now.”
He studies me for a second, long enough that my stomach does that annoying flip thing, then lets it drop. “Later, then.”
Near the aisle ahead, an older woman is talking frantically to a security volunteer, eyes darting through the crowd. Her hands twist a crumpled bag to her chest.
Rowan notices first. “Something’s wrong.”
We step closer, and the woman’s voice trembles: “My granddaughter—she was right beside me, and now I can’t find her. She’s in a blue dress. Pigtails. Please, she’s only seven—”
Cassian’s already moving. “We’ll help.”
Rowan nods, calm but firm. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up. Cass, check near the food court. I’ll sweep the vendor floor.” Then he turns to Eli. “Stay with Jess.”
Something warm and uncomfortable twists in my stomach. I should object—tell them I can handle myself, that I don’t need a babysitter. But the truth is, I want Eli to stay. I want his steady presence beside me, the certainty of not being alone. And that wanting feels like weakness.
Eli inclines his head. “Understood.”
And just like that, the crowd swallows Rowan and Cassian, leaving me and Eli standing shoulder to shoulder in the slow pulse of the merch hall lights.
“Let’s check the stalls up ahead,” I say, scanning the nearest aisle where light-up toys flicker like bait. “She might’ve wandered toward the colors.”
“Good thinking,” Eli says, falling into step beside me. His hand brushes the small of my back as we weave through the crowd, eyes scanning between vendors. Every few booths, we call her name, but it disappears under the hum of music and chatter.
We pause near a row of displays selling glass charms and enamel pins—tiny constellations glittering under the lights. The noise fades just enough to breathe again.
I reach out to touch a crescent moon charm glittering under the lights. “Damn, I miss this kind of stuff,” I say quietly. “Not when I was little—later. When I actually needed something to feel… normal.”
Eli’s gaze flicks toward me, knowing exactly what I mean. He’s heard enough about the lessons, the drills, the tutors my dad hired to keep me busy so he didn’t have to deal with me.
“After your sister disappeared,” he says softly. Not a question.
I nod. “He couldn’t control what happened to her, so he tried to control me.
Bought me an instructor instead of asking how I was doing.
Instead of being there for me.” I swallow hard, hating how small my voice sounds.
“I kept waiting for him to notice me. But I guess it was easier to throw money at the problem than actually look at me.”
Eli’s expression shifts—sympathy and heat tangled together. Then he reaches out, thumb brushing the strap of my used bookstore tote that’s slipped off my shoulder, settling it back into place. His fingers linger just long enough to make my pulse stutter, and he hugs me.
“You get to want things now,” he murmurs. “Even the small ones.”
Something cracks open in my chest—small, painful, hopeful. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to say that. To give me permission to be more than the girl who survived. My eyes prick with heat, and I blink fast, looking away before he can see.
“I’m still figuring out what that feels like,” I whisper.
The chattering of the hall fades until all I hear is my own breathing and the low hum of his scent: bergamot and linen curling into mine.
It’s simple, almost casual, but it lands deep, filling in the space I try not to let anyone see.
For a second, it feels like the whole world narrows to this tiny, glowing moment with the hum of music, the warmth of his hand, the faint overlap of our scents blending into something new.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re dangerously good at this whole normal thing.”
His eyes soften. “You make it easy and I want—”
My breath catches. What? What does he want? I’m suddenly terrified and desperate in equal measure to hear the rest of that sentence. But his phone rings, shattering the moment, and he answers it.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or devastated. Maybe both.
“Yeah?” He turns slightly, pressing it to his ear. “Cass?”
I only catch half the conversation—something about finding her and being safe now.
His shoulders ease. “Good work. Tell Rowan I’ll—yeah, we’re still by the vendor hall. Try the north exit—”
His brows knit as he tilts the phone away. “Damn reception. Come to the north exit.” He steps toward the edge of the aisle. “You still there?”
I study a small display of metal pins etched with constellations and characters from The Spirit Engine Chronicles. My fingers hover over one shaped like a glowing compass. The craftsmanship is ridiculous—silver detailing so fine it looks hand-carved. I wonder if it’s real.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a male voice says.
My hand freezes above the display.
Blake’s standing beside me—no warning, no footsteps, just there in dark jeans and a gray Polo shirt. He looks normal. Harmless, if you didn’t know better. But his smile—the one that doesn’t touch his eyes—hasn’t changed.
“Cute outfit,” he says lightly. “Didn’t peg you for the cosplay type.”
My pulse stumbles. Every instinct screams move, but my body doesn’t get the message. It’s like I’m fifteen again, trapped in a lesson I didn’t sign up for, waiting for the blow I know is coming. All that training, and the moment it matters, I’m frozen.
Pathetic. The thought slices through me, sharp and familiar-sounding, just like my dad, the first and only time he watched one of my lessons.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
He shrugs, scanning the crowd. “Same as everyone else. Having fun. You should try it with someone like me who can show a good time.”
His tone is smooth, almost lazy, but there’s something sharp underneath—something that makes my skin crawl even before his scent reaches me. Too much cologne, oil, and something metallic underneath.
Eli’s still on the phone a few yards away, back half-turned. I can’t exactly run in this costume, not without face-planting.
“You look good, Jess,” Blake says quietly. “Better than when I last saw you.”
How the hell does he even know my name? Oh, right—Nexus.
“Don’t.” My hand curls into a fist at my side.
He tilts his head, amused. “Don’t what? Talk to you? Look at you? Or remind you you’re wasting your time with those losers?”
He reaches out, snatching my arm. Reflex takes over before fear can. I grab his wrist, twist, and drive my elbow up and back—connect just enough to catch him across the nose.
He staggers, eyes wide, a bright streak of blood blooming under one nostril. “What the—”
I take a step back, breath shaking, heart hammering. My hands are trembling now—not from fear, but from the shock of what I just did. I hit him. I actually hit him. Part of me wants to throw up. Another part wants to scream. A third part—smaller, fiercer—feels something like triumph.
He wipes at the blood, staring at the red on his fingers. Then he laughs, low and mean. “Didn’t see that coming,” he says, voice roughened. “Guess I’ll have to be more careful next time. But I should’ve known you’d be a wild cat too.”
He grabs for me again—harder this time—but stops when another scent cuts through the air: bergamot and linen, crisp and certain.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” Eli says, low and edged behind me.
Blake’s smile widens, teeth slick with red.
“Ah. The loyal one.” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and eyes Eli like he’s something under his boot.
“Still pretending you belong in a pack, Beta? Thought you’d finally outgrown playing guard dog for Alphas—and whatever else you like to play with. ”
Eli doesn’t flinch. He just steps between us, his scent cutting clean through the metallic tang of blood. “Walk away or you’ll be carried out on a stretcher.”
Blake’s gaze flicks over him, assessing, amused. “Same old Eli. Still trying to prove you’re not half of anything.”
Eli’s shoulders stay relaxed, but his voice drops to something quieter. Deadlier. “Last chance.”
For a heartbeat, it looks like Blake might push it. Then he glances past Eli, and his smirk falters.
Rowan and Cassian are cutting through the crowd, both moving fast, their scents rolling ahead of them—rain and sandalwood, leather and heat. The air itself shifts, charged and heavy.
Blake’s eyes narrow. “Guess the whole pack’s here.” He exhales through his teeth, half a laugh, half something darker. “Another time, honey.”
He backs away, slipping into the moving tide of bodies until he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.
My body’s still shaking, adrenaline roaring in my ears. Eli turns to me, scanning for injury, but I can’t seem to focus on anything except the faint smear of blood on the floor where Blake had stood.
And he was smiling when he left.
That’s what scares me most. Not the grab. Not the blood. The fact that he looked pleased. Like this was exactly what he wanted. Like I just played right into his hands.