The word lands like a blade. Movement could mean anything. My fingers curl around the small clutch in my hand. It’s hard enough that the metal edge bites into my palm. Inside are things that look harmless. Lipstick. A compact. A keycard.
One other item, tucked in a hidden seam. Not a weapon. Not exactly. Insurance. The kind of insurance you learn to carry when the world treats you like a commodity.
Hawk’s gaze drops briefly to my hand. Then back to my eyes. It’s obvious that he sees more than he should.
“You’re not just a guest tonight,” he says quietly.
It’s not a question.
I force a faint smile. “What gave me away?”
“Your posture,” he says. “You move like you’re calculating.”
I nearly laugh. He thinks that’s what makes me different.
No.
What makes me different is the things I’ve already done to survive. The things I’m trying to finish.
“One mistake,” I say, keeping my voice smooth, “and suddenly everyone thinks they’re an expert.”
His expression doesn’t soften, but his voice lowers. “Whatever you’re involved in—”
“I’m involved in nothing,” I cut in, too fast. A tell. Damn it.
His eyes narrow slightly, not in anger, but understanding. That’s worse. Because understanding makes him dangerous in a different way.
He takes a step closer, and I feel the shift of his body heat again. The pull of proximity. The unnatural urge to lean into it. I hate my own body for reacting. I hate the part of me that wants to believe him.
“We don’t have time for this,. We’re going up,” he says.
Up is not an answer. But it is a direction. He steers me toward a steel service door. A keycard flashes in his hand and thedoor unlocks with a muted click. Inside, the lighting is harsher. The kind meant for maintenance, not glamour.
He glances at my shoes.
“Take off your heels,” he says. “We’re going up. Fast.”
For a second, I consider defying him out of principle. Then I hear it. Not from him. From further away. A door slamming hard — too hard for staff.
I bend, slip the heels off, and hold them by their delicate straps. The stone floor is cold beneath my bare feet.
He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t smirk. Just keys the elevator panel with something I can’t see and the doors slide shut around us. The car lifts us upward.
My shoulder nearly brushes his arm as the elevator jolts once during ascent. I don’t stumble. But his hand closes around my wrist anyway. It feels warm and firm.
He releases me as the elevator doors slide open and immediately hits the hold switch before stepping out. Insurance. If someone tries to call it, they’ll have to override him.
The doors slide open to wind. It hits like a wall. My hair whips across my face. Silk snaps against my legs. Cupid City stretches below in glittering indifference.
A helicopter crouched low against the rooftop lights, waiting. I didn’t imagine this. For the first time tonight, something close to surprise slips through my composure.
Hawk steps forward into the wind and looks back at me only once.
“Run.”
I don’t argue. Concrete is rough beneath bare feet. The hem of my gown gathers in one hand as I move. Not stumbling. Not hesitating.
Hawk doesn’t look back. He reaches the helicopter first, swings the side door open, and gestures me inside with a sharp nod. I climb in without asking questions.
