Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Light floods everything. Chandeliers hang overhead in impossible numbers, dripping crystal in tear drop form, their reflections multiplying across the polished floor until I can’t tell where the room ends and where it begins.
Every surface gleams. My heels hesitate on the marble that looks too clean for someone like me.
The ceiling stretches so high it makes my chest tighten, carved and crowded with figures frozen in stone.
I swallow. My reflection flashes in the floor as I step forward, my hand curved in the bow of Bear’s elbow.
My black waves flow behind me with each step.
Somewhere behind me, the doors close with a soft, final sound.
No turning back now. I lift my chin and take another step.
If this room thinks it’s going to swallow me whole, it’s about to learn something.
We scan the room, searching for the Greyline Unit.
The other agencies are split, no one daring to mingle quite yet.
My gaze drifts from table to table. The women wear colors that echo the wildlife they’ve devoted their lives to.
One group is wrapped in soft beige, earthy browns, and rust-red silks.
The Ironclaw Unit. Thin white scars ladder their forearms and disappear beneath jeweled sleeves.
Wildcats. Panthers. Leopards. Tigers. The predators that fight with claws instead of fangs.
Another table glimmers in deep ocean blues and sea-glass greens, silver jewelry catching the light like scales. The Deep Current Directive.
My eyes catch on a table no one occupies.
Candles burn in perfect silence around polished place settings.
A single plaque rests at the center. The Red Earth Directive Unit.
No voices or laughter surround the table, just flickering flames where people should have been.
I swallow. Where I could have been. Before I can think better of it, I reach into a vase beside me, pluck a single white flower, and carry it across the room.
The conversations around me fade as I lay the bloom beside the candles.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Warm hands settle on my shoulders. Bear steps in behind me, rubbing once across the tops of them before resting his chin gently on my head. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
I let out a slow breath, watching the candlelight dance across each of the faces framed atop of the plates. All of them smiling brightly. “I’m fine.” I turn, offering a weak smile.
A hand waves frantically behind Bear’s shoulder across the room.
Nina stands from a round navy table to the left, waving us over.
Her dress looks poured onto her, deep wine silk clinging to her curves with unapologetic precision, the fabric drawn tight through her waist before cascading down her hips in sheer, fluid layers.
The bodice is sculpted, beaded lines tracing the length of her torso like heat mapped beneath skin.
The gown elongates her, the skirt skimming her solid legs and pooling behind her in a dark, translucent train that moves as she does— impossible to ignore.
The rich burgundy hue sets her hair on fire, the caramel highlights catching the light with every turn.
The men around her straighten as she moves.
The women just stare, some in admiration and some in envy.
Bear lets out a low, deep whistle. Nina’s sharply lined lips curve into a sultry smile.
Chairs softly scrape against the floor as we approach.
I feel it before I even get a chance to look at them, that shift in the air when attention locks in and doesn’t let go.
Jasper’s gaze moves carefully, like he’s cataloging damage.
What’s new. What’s different. What still belongs to the woman he knows.
There’s something unguarded in his features, as if he’s bracing himself against the sight of me in this dress instead of steel.
Nyx is different; he’s solemn. Dangerous in that quiet way of his.
He doesn’t look at my face right away, his eyes trace the line of my dress, expression unreadable, but it’s the tension in his shoulders that give him away.
A predatory demeanor sits within them, as if anyone looking at me is suddenly a threat in this room.
I feel stripped bare beneath their gazes.
Bear’s hand settles on my back as he leans into my ear.
Nyx’s eyes flicker, just once at the movement, sharp as a blade.
Jasper notices it too, something dark passing between them.
Bear turns his body, preventing the men from reading his lips. He snickers against my shoulder, “Remind me to thank you later, for making two very dangerous men extremely unhappy.”
I bite my cheek, fighting a grin.
“Oh, sit down,” Nina grumbles. She aggravatedly waves her hand. Bear turns, pulling the velvet chair out for me.
“I didn’t know you could be such a gentleman,” I tell him before gathering the layers of my dress to sit.
Bear bows, taking the empty seat beside me. “I can be a lot of things, darlin.’” He throws me a quick wink, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back, propping a polished shoe onto his knee.
Jasper keeps looking over to me as if I might vanish if he blinks. Our eyes meet, and his mouth curves. I feel a blush creep up my neck, and look away quickly, choosing to take in the scenery in between glances around the room. Talia has certainly outdone herself, I have to give her that.
Candlelight flickers everywhere on the tables, lining the stage, clustered in tall glass cylinders that glow tenderly against all the shadows.
Our table is dressed in deep navy linens, the kind that swallows light.
Silver chargers gleam beneath the perfectly placed China, crisp and untouched.
In the center sits a globe, glass and metal, etched with continents.
Subtle but unmistakable. The world right there between us.
I exhale a quiet breath. Of course, she’d choose that.
T.A.L.O.N’s crest looms at the front of the room massively. The silver talon curves around the Earth like a promise, or a warning— depending on who’s looking. Two more flank it on either side. The air smells faintly of wax and florals as white roses and winter greenery spill low across each table.
My scanning slows as I notice eyes following me from every corner of the ballroom.
Conversations pause just long enough for someone to lean closer to their partner, whispering behind a raised champagne glass before both sets of eyes find me again.
My lips threaten to curl before Nyx suddenly clears his throat from across the table as he takes a swig from his own glass.
I snap my head over to the noise. He rolls his shoulders back, his gaze flickering from me to the whispers.
I sigh. Let them talk. My shoulders loosen before I stop myself.
Not here. I flex my fingers once against my dress as instinct reminds me, I’m not standing in the middle of a mission.
No one’s reaching for a weapon. No one’s stalking toward me. They’re curious, nothing more.
Conversations rise and fall as eyes drift as I continue tracking movement, mapping faces.
I smile to myself. I guess they’re no different than I am.
Taking a simple gesture for a possible threat.
Everyone’s alert. It’s as if we’re all out on the field, no one fully relaxing.
The Moon Ball doesn’t feel like a celebration, but a pause for all of us.
Bear fits in too easily, laughing with Nyx like they’re not two men who measure rooms for threats by instinct.
But Nyx is relaxed in a way I’ve never seen, though, his shoulders are loose and his grin is as sharp as his neatly trimmed beard.
He’s enjoying himself like the night has given him permission to be something other than a weapon.
It feels nice. My eyes flutter as I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, the tight coil in my chest loosening just enough to let the moment in.
Nina and Jasper throw their heads back in laughter at something Bear says, and for once I’m not agitated.
I let my shoulders drop, let the music carry me instead of scanning for exits, and allow the light from the chandeliers spill over me without calculating what it reveals.
It feels like a moment that I’ve earned, that I’ve prayed for.
Both men react. Jasper catches the change immediately.
Nyx’s dark eyes flick to mine, pride simmering in his gaze.
I tip my glass back and let myself laugh, really laugh, at another one of Bear’s terrible jokes, the sound unfamiliar in my throat.
Somehow this feels braver than anything I’ve ever done.
Talia stalks over from the podium, her dress a deep emerald green, rich and luminous.
The fabric hugs her tightly, spilling into a long, fluid skirt that slits high at the thigh, showing of her toned freckled legs.
The neckline dips low, framed by off-the-shoulder sleeves.
It’s elegant but dangerous. Just as she is.
Her flaming-red hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, the gold earrings brushing her neck with each step.
Every head turns as she struts across the floor.
Respect, fear, envy. It’s all there. And she doesn’t care a bit.
Her razor-sharp smile is clearly a warning when she reaches us, slow and fox bright.
“Alright,” she mutters low, gesturing to the dance floor, voice raspy and unamused.
“Up. All of you. If I let this go on any longer, someone’s going to reach for a weapon and it just might be me if you don’t get off your asses and dance.
” She eyes me cautiously, assessing, and I brace myself for the snide remark.
Instead, her mouth curves into something of approval.
“Good work, Florence.” She leaves us with that, her hips swaying as she stalks back to the podium.