And for the first time in days, no one expected anything from her. No panels, no signings, no questions to answer. Just this moment, completely anonymous.
The freedom hit her like a rush of air after too long underwater.
She wanted this. Sheneededthis.
“You couldn’t stop me if you tried,” she said, pulling away from the wall. “Come on, Cole.”
She heard his delighted chuckle behind her.
They made their way through the nearest aisle, which happened to be the one where theDarkreachbooth was posted.
A group of teenage girls in show merch pushed past, tote bags heavy with swag dangling from their arms. One of them stopped short in front of a massive cardboard cutout showing Darren himself, brooding in full Kael armor.
“God, he’s so hot,” the girl gushed, completely unaware that the real version stood an arm’s length away. “If I met him in real life, I’d actually combust.”
Emma pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh. Darren gave the tiniest shrug beside her, eyes dancing with wicked amusement above the mask.
They drifted onward, swept along by the current. Near the giant Lego booth, two girls were huddled over a phone.
“Do another one—a girl. Make it Darren’s eyes and Emma’s hair this time.”
Emma froze, tugging Darren’s sleeve to pull his attention from a detailed, perfectly scaled Lego model of the entire convention. She cocked her head toward the girls, eyes wide. Darren leaned in discreetly to glance at the screen.
“What the actual hell?” Emma whispered.
He tilted his head. “Huh. Our kids would be really cute.”
She blinked, very grateful for the mask hiding her blush. Darren pulled her onward before the girls finished debating whether their AI baby should have his or her nose.
“See?” he murmured, leaning in so only she could hear. “People still ship us.”
She rolled her eyes, but something warm and complicated filled her chest, anyway.
They were stopped next by a man in Mandalorian armor, who raised a gloved hand. Emma’s heart skipped a beat, thinking they’d been recognized. But then he burst out in a high-pitched voice wildly at odds with his costume, “Oh my god, those are the best stillsuits I’ve seen all day! Can I get a photo?”
Darren didn’t miss a beat—he posed with his hand raised solemnly, like Paul Atreides summoning a sandworm. Emma broke into giggles behind her mask, trying to mimic him, though she felt more like an awkward tourist.
“This is the way,” Darren said, deepening his voice.
“Oooh, crossover,” the Mandalorian squealed. He bowed gallantly and moved on, leaving them both in stitches behind their masks.
Eventually, they reached the far end of the exhibit floor and slipped into Artists’ Alley. The roar of the main floor dimmed to a hum, replaced by the scratch of markers and the soft shuffle of prints across folding tables.
No giant screens or neon signs lined the ceiling here. Just humble stands with independent artists showcasing prints, merch, and their own comic books.
After the extravagant studio setups, these booths looked tiny, dwarfed by impossibly tall grey and white wall panels. Yet everything here was more heartfelt, more human, than the giant entertainment booths.
They strolled lazily, pausing every now and then to admire someone’s work. At one of the tables, Emma’s gaze caught on something familiar enough to halt her mid-step. A scene fromThe Bonds of Light—the very same one she’d read at the bookstore.
It was reimagined in richly colored marker pen. Lucen hovered over Catlyn, his dark eyes rendered luminous and strange. The lines were masterful, uncannily close to how she had always pictured them in her mind. Emma’s throat tightened. Her story was here—alive, stitched into the noise and color of the convention.
She showed it to Darren. “Look what I found.”
“Emma,” Darren whispered. He swept his gloved hand toward the booth.
She took a stumbling step back. “That’s . . .”
It wasn’t just that painting.
