“Well,” Leah said, “the bookstore manager has been keeping the fans calm with an improvisedBonds of Lighttrivia quiz for the past twenty minutes, and she looked like she was about to cry when I left. You owe her a good one, Whitehart. And you”—she whirled on Darren—“you stay out of sight, capisce? And wipe that smirk off your face. I thought you’d kidnapped her.”
Darren’s smirk didn’t so much as budge. “Nice to see you too, Leah. I’ll lay low. Promise.” And then, leaning in close enough that only she could hear, “Good luck, Emma.”
The simple words moved her more than they should have. She met his gaze, caught in a fleeting moment of stillness.
“Thanks.”
He veered off somewhere—Emma didn’t see where he disappeared—and then they reached the door out to the bookstore. Emma caught a glimpse of the waiting audience through the small window.
Leah fussed over her like a mother cat with a kitten, thumb wiping something off her forehead, then attempting to tame the worst of her hair while muttering under her breath.
“I’m still not convinced you didn’t hook up,” she said. “You’re glowing. Like, radioactive glowing. Not to mention your hair deserves its own NC-17 rating.”
Emma ducked her head under the dim lights, cheeks still warm. “Just glad to be alive.”
Leah pursed her lips, giving her a final once-over.
“Can I have your blazer?” Emma asked.
“No.” Leah pinched at Darren’s T-shirt, adjusting it over her shoulders. “You’ll wear your trophy proudly.” Then, softer: “Plus, you look amazing, Em. Feeling alive suits you. Not even my best blush can achieve that kind of glow. And it’sexpensive.”
She tipped Emma’s chin, her signature time-to-go move. “Now go out there and kill it, writer.”
Chapter 21
It’s all fun and games until the story gets personal.
The bookstore was warm and crowded, with rows of folding chairs squeezed between the bookshelves. Every seat was taken.
Emma approached from the back of the room, coming in behind the audience. A few heads turned as she entered, then more followed when whispers of “she’s here” started rippling through the crowd.
She made her way toward the small wooden podium at the front, near the sunny bookstore window where dust danced lazily through the air. Darren’s T-shirt brushed against her skin with every move she made, bringing the faintest trace of his scent.
The bookstore manager, a woman in her fifties with graying hair and bright red glasses, gave Emma a relieved look as she approached.
“And now, my dear friends,” she announced, exasperation lining her voice, “finally the moment you’ve all been waiting for: Emma Whitehart!”
“So sorry,” Emma whispered as she switched places with the woman.
She settled behind the worn podium, letting her hands come to rest on the smooth edges.
A familiar reverence washed over her—that first moment of looking out at the room before a reading. No matter how many she’d done, it still hit her every time. She hoped it always would.
Chairs shuffling. Clothes rustling. A hush thick with anticipation. All of it pressed in on her at once. It was pure presence, the kind she otherwise only found at her desk, when the world narrowed to just her and the story.
Sharing it was different. More sacred. Everyone here had stepped into a world she’d built from nothing—just a spark in her mind, now living in theirs. Strangers carrying pieces of her story inside them, making it their own.
It was humbling and overwhelming and goddamn if it wasn’t the closest thing to magic she had ever believed in.
“Hi, guys,” she said to the audience. “Thanks for your patience. Trust me, there is a really good story behind why I’m late, but I’ll save it for another day. Let’s read someBonds of Lighttogether, shall we? I was thinking we could dive straight into Chapter Twelve, when Catlyn first starts to fight Lucen’s hold over her.”
A murmur of approval rose from the crowd. It was one of her go-to chapters for readings—holding just the right amount of tension to keep the crowd on their toes, but not enough to make her blush.
There was a copy of her book waiting on the podium. Emma trailed her fingers over the familiar cover. Lucen’s palace, dark against a midnight sky, silhouetted by golden beams of light. How strange and amazing her life had become since this story found its way into the world. She opened it, rustling through the pages.
When she found the right one, she took a breath, centering herself. The room fell silent in that familiar way she loved, a hundred small sounds folding into stillness.
She began to read.
