We’d definitely interrupted the park’s usual rhythm.
I let out a slow breath, trying to shake the nerves tightening my chest. This wouldn’t be what the festival crowd felt like. Not really.
On the day itself, people would come expecting noise, expecting music. They’d want this.
At least, I hoped they would.
As the band onstage wrapped up their song, something prickled at the back of my neck. A sensation I couldn’t quite name.
It felt heavy, close, almost suffocating. My wolf stirred uneasily, hackles rising for no clear reason.
I scanned the park without really knowing what I was looking for, then frowned when I found nothing obvious.
Probably just nerves, I told myself, and shoved the feeling down.
I turned my attention back to the stage, and then to Mark.
He stood beside me, shoulders loose, gaze fixed forward, like this was just another performance instead of an audition that could decide our winter.
His scent brushed against mine, warm and steady. Something in my chest eased at the first inhale.
I anchored myself there for a second, then forced my focus back to the stage as the judges murmured among themselves.
The band finishing up onstage was festive. Like aggressively festive.
They were all in matching outfits. Red and green everywhere.
One of them had pointy ears that screamed elf, another was wrapped in white and blue like a walking snowman, and the third?—
I squinted hard. I really hoped that was supposed to be a reindeer.
I scoffed under my breath. Weren’t the auditions technically for New Year’s?
Winter-themed, sure, but this felt like they’d missed the memo by a week and a half. Trying too hard was a thing, right?
The song ended, and applause rippled through the park.
It wasn’t wild or enthusiastic, more polite than anything, but it was there.
Even the old men by the chess tables were clapping now, slowly, begrudgingly, as if the music had won them over despite themselves. I stared at them, mildly offended.
Weren’t you all scowling just five minutes ago?
I glanced down at myself. Plain black puffer jacket. Dark jeans.
The only thing remotely interesting was the tarnished silver zipper I’d been meaning to replace for months.
My stomach tightened.
I leaned toward Mark. “Should we have planned outfits?” I asked quietly. “Like, worn something festive or—something. What if they’re judging based on crowd reaction too?”
Mark was still clapping, but he stopped and looked at me like he was seriously considering it.
“I mean,” he said, deadpan, “I did pass a party shop on the way here. I can run and grab something real quick. Or we could hit a thrift store. I’m sure they’ve got a bin of tragic Santa hats somewhere.”
I blinked at him.
Then he smiled. “I’m kidding,” he said. “We’re fine. It’s just an audition. And honestly? That was a little too try-hard.”
