“Traitor.”
“You’ll survive.”
Penny arched a brow, smug. “Come on. You’re already dressed like a sexy Bond villain. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
Arden sighed. Thought about the rose. The unease. The quiet war she’d fought all day to keep it from burrowing too deep.
Maybe Penny had a point.
“Fine. One drink.”
“Two,” Penny corrected, looping her arm through Arden’s. “And a few impulsive choices. They’re good for the soul.”
“This is probably a terrible idea, huh?”
“Obviously.”
From across the room,Gideon watched.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
He just stood there, glass in hand, eyes following every beat of her body language—the ease in her shoulders, the way Penny looped an arm through hers and pulled her toward the door like it was nothing. And maybe to her, it was.
But to him, it mattered.
He told himself it didn’t. That she was free to go.
Free to laugh.
Free to leave without hesitation.
But when the door swung shut behind her, the sound of it echoed too loud.
Too final.
And something inside him went terrifyingly still.
He followed at a distance,never close enough to be seen. But always close enough to watch.
The crowd throbbed with light and sound, a living beast of bass and neon.
Music crawled through the floor, threading into bone like a second heartbeat.
Light fractured across the walls, casting flickering shadows that never stayed long enough to matter.
But none of it touched him.
Not the noise.
Not the chaos.
Only her.
Arden movedlike a clear note breaking through static—untouched, unshaken, effortless.
Penny, all wild limbs and clueless joy, tugged her toward the dance floor.
He watched the moment it shifted.
