The echo of it—Wildbrush, never tamed—rolled through the crowd, a wave of joy and belonging. Glasses clinked, people called my name, and for a second I felt like the universe was built for me, by me, and nothing could ever knock me off center again.
The strings started up, laughter filled the gaps, and for the next half hour I floated through the room, hugging people, answering questions, signing programs, even posing for a few pictures with Inez in front of our shared mural. There were more speeches, some silly, some serious.
Finn stayed close, never quite letting go of my hand or waist. He steered me through the crowd with gentle nudges and soft words, always grounding me, always reminding me where I came from.
It was perfect, all of it. The kind of night you build your whole life around. The kind of night you hope will never end.
And for a while, I believed it could last forever.
****
The crowd didn’t thin so much as it began to swirl—people drifting between the gallery and Harper’s studio, the air dense with music and the faint tang of lemon buttercream. I made my rounds, thanked everyone who so much as looked my way, then gave myself permission to slip upstairs for five blessed minutes. I needed to breathe, and, okay, maybe to double-check the little box I’d wrapped for Inez as a surprise thank-you.
I slipped away, telling Finn I had to use the “real bathroom” in my office. He let me go, but his eyes tracked me the whole way, green and intent, promising protection..
The stairsto the mezzanine were long metal steps each one echoing over the noise below. My dress—floor-length sage with lavender insets and ridiculous clusters of handmade flowers—snagged on the rail as I hurried up. I laughed at myself, half-drunk on joy, half on the flute of champagne still in my hand.
My office at the top had the door barely ajar. Inside, everything was just as I’d left it: the old wood dining table desk, the battered easel in the corner, the half-finished painting I was pretending not to be obsessed with. The window looked down over the whole gallery, and for a second I stood there, hidden, just watching the world.
The little box was right where I’d stashed it—behind a row of paint thinner jars. I pulled it out, checked the ribbon, then let myself spin around once in a moment of pure, giddy pride.
That’s when Lysander knocked.
“Darling?” he called through the crack. “You okay?”
I opened the door wider. “Yeah—just had to get this.” I held up the box. “It’s for Inez. But I needed a minute to, uh, reassemble my face. I am a mess.”
He laughed, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. “If I looked like you, I’d stare at myself all night. They’re all obsessed with you, you know.”
“Shut up.” I smiled. “You want to take this down to Inez? I could use a minute to—”
“Are you kidding? Let her see it’s from you.” He stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind him. “You deserve the moment.”
His voice had gone soft, stripped of all irony. I looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time all night saw something tired in his eyes. The mask was slipping, just a touch. Maybe it had been a long week for him too.
He reached out, palms up. “Come here, you brilliant thing. Let me hug you before I combust from envy.”
It was so un-Lysander I laughed. But I stepped forward, letting him wrap me up in a tight, platonic embrace. He was warm, lean, smelled like salt and citrus. For a moment, I let myself lean into it, just bask in the weird siblinghood of two outsiders making good.
Then I tried to pull away, and couldn’t.
His arms had gone steel-hard around my waist, pinning me tight. At first, I thought he was making a joke, some elaborate bit, but when I looked up, his face was just inches from mine, smiling in a way I’d never seen. There was nothing in his eyes—no shine, no affection, no warmth. Just empty, bottomless black.
“Told you we’d be lifelong friends,” he whispered.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The world tilted.
His face was changing. The skin shimmered, stretched, warped. In the blink of an eye, it was still Lysander—but layered over something else, something ancient and wrong. I saw the shadow of horns, the glint of razor teeth, the slithering tail that flicked out behind him like a live wire.
I struggled against him, but it was no use. I felt his fingers move to my face, and I tried to scream, but the air caught in my throat. I was disoriented as he muttered words I didn't understand. But then he turned his head, just slightly, and stared straight into the security camera mounted in the corner. He smiled a slow, deliberate, evil smile and said something that sounded like: “Come find me.”
Then Finn was in the room.
His anguished face was the last thing I saw. I squeaked out the only words I could say. “I’m sorry.”
There was a sound, not quite a pop, not quite a crack—a snap of cold, of nothing, and the world went empty. The next instant, the room vanished.
