"Beautiful," he says instead, the word rough with honesty. "You look beautiful."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't look away. "You don't look so bad yourself. Though you could use some color in your cheeks."
His mouth quirks in something that might be a smile. "I'm fine, Heidi."
"Right." I don't believe him for a second, but I also know that pushing will just make him more stubborn. "Ready to show me what all the fuss is about?"
"Vestige is the center hub for tonight's festivities," he says as we make our way downstairs. "It will be... intense. More than usual."
"Good." The word slips out before I can stop it, and his eyebrows rise. "What? I like intense. I want noise and chaos and enough stimulation to make my head spin."
"Careful what you wish for," he murmurs, but there's something almost fond in his tone.
Tonight, with the city alive, Mihalis agrees to forgo the carriage. The walk to Vestige passes in comfortable silence, broken only by sounds of celebration echoing through the streets. Groups of revelers move between venues, their laughter and shouts creating a symphony of controlled chaos that makes my pulse quicken with anticipation.
When we arrive, the club is already packed despite the early hour. The line outside wraps around the building, but Mihalis leads me through a side entrance that bypasses the crowd entirely. The bouncer—a massive xaphan with silver-tipped wings—bows respectfully as we pass.
"Boss. Miss."
Music pounds from speakers I can't see, the bass line vibrating through my bones in a rhythm that's primal and magnetic. The dance floor is already crowded with bodies moving in ways that would make a sailor blush, sweat gleaming on bare skin in the flickering firelight.
"Your office?" I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the din.
But I don't want his office tonight. I want this—the press of bodies, the wild music, the feeling of being alive and electric and free. After weeks of feeling like I was slowly dying, I want to celebrate being strong enough to stand.
"Actually," I say, catching his arm as he starts toward the stairs leading to the upper levels. "Can we stay down here for a while? I know you usually avoid the main floor, but tonight..."
"Tonight is different," he finishes, studying my face with those unsettling golden eyes. "You want to dance."
"I want to live," I correct. "I want to drink and move and feel like I'm not made of glass about to shatter."
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, or approval. "The drinks here are stronger than what you're used to."
"Then we'll start slow and work our way up." I grin at him, feeling reckless in the best possible way. "Come on, Mihalis. When's the last time you actually enjoyed your own club instead of just overseeing it?"
He considers this for a long moment, and I can see the internal battle playing out behind his eyes. The responsible club owner warring with whatever part of him wants to give me what I'm asking for.
"Fine," he says finally. "But we stay together."
"Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."
The bar is a work of art in itself—curved black marble shot through with veins of gold, tended by bartenders who move with practiced efficiency despite the chaos surrounding them. Mihalis orders something I don't recognize, two small glasses filled with liquid that seems to shimmer with its own inner light.
"What is this?" I ask, accepting my glass.
"Essence of fire," he says, lifting his own. "Traditional Noxalyth drink. It's meant to..."
"To what?"
His mouth curves in a smile that's all sharp edges and dark promise. "To help you embrace your wilder impulses."
The drink burns going down but leaves a pleasant warmth in its wake, like liquid courage pooling in my stomach. Within minutes, I can feel it working—not dulling my senses but heightening them, making every sight and sound and sensation more vivid.
Including my awareness of Mihalis.
I've been trying not to notice how good he looks tonight, but the drink strips away my careful self-control. My eyes keep drifting to the strong line of his jaw, the way his shirt stretches across his broad chest, how his wings shift restlessly when he's trying to contain himself.
"Another?" he asks, and I nod without hesitation.
