She tugged the bundle of fabric free. The suit unfolded heavy in her hands, panels of sand-colored cloth stitched with black piping and straps.
“People actually wear these for fun?” she asked, aiming for casual, feeling anything but.
Darren was already halfway undressed, shirt gone and stepping out of his jeans, leaving him only in black boxers. “People wear far worse than this for fun,” he said. “Wait till you see the guys who built their own Iron Man armor out of scrap metal.”
He tossed the pants aside, all lean muscle and ridiculous ease. The shift of his body beneath golden skin made something tighten inside her, but Darren seemed completely unbothered. “Now come on, get changed,” he said, making a point of turning away from her. “I won’t look. Promise.”
Emma shook her head, smiling despite herself at his eager earnestness. She turned around too, stripping down to bra and panties, then quickly shrugging the suit up around her. The room felt suddenly too small, air thick with rustling fabric and the sharp whisper of zippers.
The suit hugged her tightly, making her conscious of every inch of her body. She fumbled with the chest straps. The layers refused to settle, her fingers clumsy with nerves.
“You need help?”
A small gasp escaped her as Darren’s voice came from just behind. She hadn’t heard him approach.
She turned. He was already fully suited, hood down, mask loose at his neck, a stray lock of dark hair falling over his forehead—and he looked absurdly good. If she’d been casting Paul Atreides, she’d have hired him on sight.
His gaze dipped to the tangled straps across her ribs. Without hesitation, he reached, fingers brushing lightly over her as he clipped them into place, one by one, unhurried. She stood frozen, hyperaware of his nearness, the scrape of fabric, the warmth of his hands through the suit.
“There,” he murmured.
Emma’s breath caught. She looked up and met his eyes. For a suspended moment, neither of them moved. Maybe it was the costumes, maybe the secrecy, or maybe just the intimacy of the small room—but the air between them seemed to vibrate.
Then Darren reached up, slow and reverent as a ritual, and drew her hood into place. His knuckles skimmed her temple, fingertips tucking back a loose strand of hair. Her skin tingled in their wake.
He pulled on his own hood, settling his mask into place. She followed.
The transformation was almost eerie. The uniforms made them unrecognizable—yet his eyes were completely, unmistakably him. Dark, alive, locked on hers.
Her laugh broke the tension, breathless, shaky. It rumbled oddly inside the mask. “We look like we’re about to go ride a sandworm.”
“That’s the idea,” he said, voice muffled. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “And this one’s called Comic-Con. Ready?”
She wasn’t sure if he meant the cosplay or all of it—the secrecy, the risk, the rush of being here with him. But her answer came easily.
“I must not fear,” she said, arranging her posture into that of a soldier. “Fear is the mind-killer.”
Darren’s eyes lit up so sharply that it sent a jolt straight through her. His voice dropped, rough with approval.
“Good answer, Whitehart. Very good answer. Now let’s go ride this thing.”
Chapter 33
Come to the mad side; we’ve got cosplay.
The discreet side door from the service corridor brought them straight into the heart of the convention. The moment they stepped onto the exhibition floor, the air punched out of Emma’s lungs.
It was a sensory assault—thousands of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, a tapestry of voices layered over trailers blasting from giant screens. The air smelled of popcorn, warm plastic, and too many bodies pressed together. The hall was unrecognizable from the eerily empty expanse they’d wandered through this morning.
Darren leaned close, so she could hear his voice through the mask. “Welcome to the jungle.”
Emma laughed nervously. “This is . . . insane.”
He stepped in front of her, adjusted her hood, then let his hands settle on her shoulders.
“Hey. You sure you want to do this? We could still go back.”
She glanced out over the sea of people, their sheer mass and noise overwhelming. But no one was looking at them. No one was discreetly lifting a phone in their direction. They were just two more cosplayers in a sea of superheroes, stormtroopers, and anime characters with hair in blazing colors.
