Chapter 31
JESS
The zipper wins the first round.
I curse under my breath and twist toward the mirror, trying to reach the spot between my shoulder blades that apparently exists in a different dimension.
The costume designer must’ve hated people with normal arm lengths—or loved watching them suffer.
Or maybe it’s just me. My hands are shaking a little, which doesn’t help. I tell myself it’s excitement, but there’s a tightness in my chest that feels more like the moment before jumping off something high.
I’ve been with each of them now—Rowan, Cassian, Eli—and the air in the house has felt heavier ever since.
Like my scent’s changing, my skin is too sensitive of every brush of theirs. I can’t stop wondering what happens next… if something inside me’s already winding up for my heat and whatever comes with it.
“Come on,” I mutter, stretching until something pops. The zipper finally gives with a tiny metallic sigh. Victory.
The top settles into place—shimmery teal, cut a little lower than I usually wear. The skirt’s short and layered like fish scales, and the iridescent sheen makes it look half-liquid when I move.
Mermaid-inspired, not movie-accurate, but close enough that I can pretend it’s part of The Sky Between Us universe.
But after spending three hours at the mall and dashing to another half dozen places for Eli to find the perfect pieces he wanted, I was done. And Eli didn’t even reward us with a peek at his costume or who he was going as.
I tug at one of the translucent sleeves, watching how it catches light, then decide it’s hopeless. My reflection looks equal parts confident and terrified—like I’m about to go on stage instead of just walking out the door.
The last time I dressed up was for the Nexus banquet last night. Before that, it was Nocturne, sneaking into a bar with my friends, laughing like we had any idea what we were walking into. We didn’t.
I still don’t know what happened to them after the wreck. I need to ask Rowan if he’s found anything—if anyone made it out.
This is the first time it’s just… me. No agenda. No danger. Just a glittery mermaid skirt and the hope that maybe it’s okay to want something as small as fun.
A knock from downstairs. Rowan’s voice, deep and steady: “Five-minute warning!”
“Got it!” I shout back, even though I’m still barefoot.
My heart does a stupid flutter remembering last night—the weight of him, the way he said my name like it meant something. Like I meant something besides being an Omega. How so many guys dumped me after they got into my pants.
I shove the thought down before it can grow roots, grab a soda from the mini-fridge, and pop the tab. The fizz hisses, and I take a sip that burns the inside of my nose, sharp enough to ground me. I can’t afford to want things I’m not sure I’m allowed to keep.
Focus. Fun. Distraction. That’s the point of today.
I slip into silver sandals, swipe gloss on, and head downstairs.
Rowan’s in the living room, wearing a plain black T-shirt with an anime logo stretched across his chest and dark jeans.
His attempt at casual blends perfectly with his “don’t mess with me” vibe.
Cassian’s scrolling through his phone on the couch, zero effort given—just his usual leather jacket and jeans, smug grin firmly in place.
I open my mouth to ask if they’re ready—then almost inhale my soda. Because Eli walks out of the hallway like a damn fever dream.
White shirt, open at the throat. Slim dark trousers.
His hair—usually sun-warm brown—is dyed in streaks of pale silver and soft blue, like moonlight spilled over ocean glass.
It makes his eyes look even brighter, impossible to look away from.
And jeweled earrings that catch the light every time he moves.
There’s a shimmer of gold at the corner of each eye, too, subtle enough that I don’t notice it until he’s close.
Cassian blinks once. “You’re going to be prettier than half the girls at this thing.”
Eli straightens his cuff without looking up. “Half? Try two-thirds.”
Rowan exhales through his nose, trying not to smile. “You’re going to get mobbed. Definitely by me, at least.”
“Occupational hazard,” Eli says, adjusting the line of his collar like it’s perfectly normal to look like an anime heartthrob.
I fight the urge to stare and fail spectacularly. He’s always been beautiful in that effortless way that made me feel like I was trying too hard, but this—this is something else.
Something that makes my throat tight with an emotion I can’t name. Pride? Awe? The ache of realizing I get to be here, in this moment, with him? “So this is what you wouldn’t let us see?”
He lifts a brow, eyes glinting. “What’s the point of a reveal if you ruin the surprise?”
I sip my soda just to have something to do. “You could’ve warned me before dressing like every teenage dream ever animated.”
Eli smirks. “Let them.”
Rowan grabs the keys off the hook. “All right, let’s move before the parking fills up.”
The doors shut, and their scents rush in like a tide. Rowan at the wheel smells of sandalwood and rain—steady, clean, the kind of scent that makes my chest unclench without permission.
Cassian’s warmth rolls forward from the passenger seat, leather and amber edged with black pepper; it’s reckless and comforting all at once. His black tattoos peek out from under his T-shirt’s sleeves.
And Eli… Eli’s bergamot and fresh linen, bright enough to slice through everything else, the spark right before a storm breaks.
My own scent curls softer in the middle of them, vanilla and jasmine touched with citrus that sharpens when my pulse skips. The air feels too small to hold all of it, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware that I can’t hide here.
Not from them. They can smell what I’m feeling—the want, the fear, the way my body responds even when my brain is screaming to stay guarded.
I want to crack the window wider, dilute the intimacy before it becomes too real. But loneliness tugs the other way, urging me to sink into it and finally stop pretending I don’t need anyone.
The radio hums low, some indie pop beat blurring under the sound of the car on the road. Rowan cracks the window, and cool air slides in to mix with us—an impossible blend of earth, ocean, and Alpha.
Eli’s fingers brush mine on the seat between us. Once, twice. Then he just threads them together like that’s how the world should sit—his thumb tracing lazy circles over my palm until my breath forgets its rhythm.
His hand is warm and steady, no games, no pressure. Just there. And for once, I don’t overthink it. I let myself enjoy the quiet between us—the hum of the tires, the sunlight, the simple fact that his hand fits mine.
The city grows denser, streets crowded with people in wigs and armor, banners fluttering above the stadium ahead.
When we pull into the lot of a concrete stadium, the air practically vibrates—music, chatter, the shimmer of sunlight on every shade of hair dye imaginable.
When Eli squeezes my hand before letting go. For a second, I don’t want to let go. I want to hold on and pretend we can stay in this car, in this little bubble where nothing bad has happened yet. Where they don’t decide that I’m not worth the trouble.
But he’s already pulling away, and my scent spikes with a fresh hit of citrus—sharp, almost bitter. I hope he doesn’t notice. I hope he does. I don’t know what I hope.
Then Cassian opens the door for me, offering his hand. I hesitate—just a second—before taking it. The gesture feels too careful, too considerate, like I’m something fragile. I’m not sure if I want to lean into that or prove him wrong.
His grip is steady as he helps me out. My “thanks” gets swallowed by the noise of the parking lot. It shouldn’t be this hard to just take someone’s hand.
I glance at the line snaking toward the entrance and grin despite myself. “Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do this.”
Inside is a wall of sound—music from half a dozen speakers, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum that echoes in the concrete stadium, a thousand overlapping voices shouting over each other about photos, meetups, and limited-edition merch.
Bright banners flap overhead, each one advertising some anime I’ve never heard of: Celestial Drifters, Blade Circuit Zero, The Spirit Engine Chronicles.
And the air smells like sugar and sunscreen and the ozone tang of too many electronics running at once.
It’s chaos. Glittery, unapologetic chaos.
And I kind of love it.
Cassian tips his head back, scanning the entrance where cosplayers line up for badge pickup. “Jesus. It’s like Comic-Con and Mardi Gras had a baby.”
Rowan smirks. “And gave it caffeine.”
Eli, of course, just glides past both of them like he was made for this. Heads turn as he walks—jeweled earring catching light, shirt open just enough to make everyone in a ten-foot radius forget what they were doing.
Even surrounded by a hundred cosplayers, he doesn’t look like he’s playing dress-up. He looks like he stepped out of the screen.
Two girls in cat ears stop mid-conversation.
“Oh my gods, it’s Captain Varyn from Starlight Renegade! He nailed it!” one squeals, clutching her phone.
Before I can blink, she’s asking for a photo. Then another. Then someone else joins in, shouting something about “the best Varyn cosplay I’ve seen yet.”
Cassian groans. “Here we go.”
Eli gives the faintest of smiles—the polite, camera-ready kind—and stands still while the fans snap pictures. I try to step out of frame, but one of them waves me in.
“Get in, Mermaid Girl! You’re gorgeous!”
My first instinct is to refuse. I’m not the girl people photograph—I’m the one standing off to the side, making sure nothing goes wrong.
But Eli holds out a hand, and there’s something in his expression that makes my chest ache. “Come on. For authenticity,” he teases, then lowers his voice so only I can hear, “and so everyone here knows who you’re with.”