Something inside me cracks. She's not built for cages, not really. That restless energy she hides behind her perfect posture? It's the same twitch in a stray dog's shoulders before it bolts.
"You want out?" My voice drops, low and rough. "Just for one night. You want to see the world without anyone telling you who to be?"
Her head jerks up. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," I say, standing, "want to see the real world? My world? Not the estate. Not the safe little box they built for you. The city. For one night."
Her lips part, then close again. For a second she looks like she might faint—or say yes too fast.
"That's insane," she whispers, blue eyes so wide they're almost wild.
"Probably."
"What if—"
"Charity." I stride over and crouch in front of her, close enough that Lucky opens a sleepy eye. "The cage will still be here tomorrow. But tonight?" My smile feels sharp. "Tonight you could breathe."
Her pulse flutters in her throat. Fingers twitch against Lucky's fur. She's terrified and hungry all at once.
"Where would we even go?"
"Brooklyn Bridge," I say without hesitation. "Best view in the city at night. Wind in your hair, the whole skyline laid out like it belongs to you."
"You've done this before."
"Every time I needed to remember I was still alive."
The silence after that is filled with the sound of Lucky's tail patting the sofa like he approves. Charity's staring at me like she's trying to memorize every detail—like I'm dangling keys in front of her prison door.
Finally, she whispers, "Show me."
We don't leave right away. She's buzzing, too nervous to sit still, and I can tell she needs a softer landing before I drag her into the chaos outside her gates. So I pull a deck of cards from my bag and flick them between my fingers, the familiar snap and rustle grounding me.
Her eyes widen. "You carry cards around?"
"Always. Can do a hundred tricks with these."
"Show me."
I shuffle, palms a blur, then flick the deck into a perfect bridge that snaps back into my hands. She claps like a kid at her first circus.
"That wasn't even the trick," I say, grinning despite myself.
Her laughter spills out, unguarded and bright. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes shining like she forgot to be sad. "Do another."
So I do. A card vanishes and reappears under Lucky's front paw. Cards slide from one hand to the other like liquid.
None of it's complicated—sleight of hand I picked up centuries ago to distract angry drunks long enough to slip their coins. But here, with her? It feels different. Like I'm not hustling. Like I'm performing for the first real audience I've ever had.
"You're incredible," she breathes.
"Practice." I shrug, but heat crawls up my neck.
Her gaze doesn't waver. "No. It's more than practice. You… you make it feel like magic is real."
The words gut me. Nobody's ever said that before. Not without suspicion, not without wanting something. Just wonder.
Lucky shifts to the floor, thumping his tail doing a little drumroll, as if agreeing.
