"Would that bother you?" I ask instead of answering directly.
She considers this seriously, swirling wine in her glass while she thinks. When she finally meets my gaze, there's something in her expression that makes my pulse quicken.
"No," she says quietly. "I don't think it would."
The admission hangs between us like a challenge, loaded with implications that neither of us is quite ready to pursue. But something has shifted in the space of this evening—some barrier has been crossed that we can't uncross.
9
HEIDI
The admission settles between us like smoke, curling around the edges of something I'm not ready to name. My pulse quickens, and I reach for my wine glass to give my hands something to do besides fidget.
"We should head home soon," he says, but his voice carries a roughness that wasn't there before. "Irida will want to hear about your first visit to Vestige."
Home. The word slides through me with dangerous warmth, and I don't correct it even though this arrangement is supposed to be temporary. Even though I should be plotting my escape instead of sitting here in emerald silk, letting myself enjoy the way his presence makes the bond's pressure fade to nothing.
The carriage ride back passes in charged silence. He sits across from me again, but the careful distance feels different now—deliberate rather than polite, like he's fighting the same urge to close the space that's making my skin feel too tight.
When we arrive at his estate, Thera greets us at the door with the kind of knowing look that makes my cheeks burn. She takes one glance at the dress, at the way Mihalis's hand hoversprotectively near my lower back as we enter, and her expression shifts into something dangerously close to satisfaction.
"Irida's been asleep for hours," she informs us, "but she made me promise to wake her if you came back early enough for a story."
"It's past midnight," Mihalis protests, but there's no real authority in it. We all know he'll cave if his daughter asks.
"I'll go change," I murmur, suddenly hyperaware of how the silk clings to my skin, how exposed I feel under the warm lights of his home.
But when I reach my room, I don't immediately strip out of the dress. Instead, I catch myself staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to reconcile this elegant stranger with the street thief who broke into Vestige all those nights ago. The woman looking back at me appears comfortable with luxury, at ease in expensive fabric. She looks like someone who belongs in a place like this.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends guilt spiraling through my chest.
I've been here ten days. Ten days of soft beds and regular meals, of Irida's laughter and Mihalis's careful consideration. Ten days of not once attempting a real escape, of letting myself sink into the rhythm of this life like it's something I deserve.
I should feel trapped. Should be clawing at the walls, planning elaborate breakouts, counting down the hours until I can disappear back into the city's shadows where I belong.
Instead, when I think about leaving, all I can picture is Irida's face crumpling with confusion and hurt.Why did Heidi go away? Didn't she like us?
The dress comes off easily, but the guilt clings like a second skin as I change into my nightgown. I've become comfortable here. More than comfortable—I've started to care about these people, started to want things I have no right to want.
Started to imagine staying.
Three days later, I'm sprawled on the library floor with Irida, helping her arrange her collection of "special rocks" while snow falls steadily outside the tall windows. She's explaining the unique properties of each stone with the serious intensity only six-year-olds can muster.
I'm listening as intently as I can while ignoring the pain in my chest. It's getting worse, to the point that I need Mihalis around all the time—not that I'd admit it.
"This one's for protection," she says, placing a smooth black pebble in my palm. "And this one brings good dreams. Dad gave it to me when I had nightmares about thunder."
The casual mention of Mihalis's tenderness toward his daughter does something warm and dangerous to my chest. Over the past week, I've seen glimpses of the man he becomes around Irida—patient where he's normally sharp, playful where he's usually controlled. He'll spend an entire afternoon building elaborate snow fortresses if she asks, his expression soft with indulgent affection.
"What about this one?" I ask, picking up a piece of deep green stone that catches the light like captured starfire.
"That's my favorite!" Her face lights up with excitement. "It's supposed to help people who are meant to be together find each other. Like soulmates, but for regular people too. Dad says it's silly, but I think it works."
My throat tightens. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I found it the day after you came here," she says matter-of-factly. "And you stayed, so the magic must be working."
Before I can figure out how to respond to that devastating piece of childhood logic, Mihalis appears in the doorway. His hair is slightly mussed from whatever he's been working on,and there's ink on his fingers—signs that he's been handling correspondence in his office.
