He smiled, pulling me so close that our breath mingled. “Names ruin the magic.”
The waltz quickened. My pulse matched its rhythm. He spun me then, too fast, too gracefully, his hand anchoring me as the room tilted. Colors brightened unnaturally and the air grew thick and cloying.
He bent his head, lips grazing my ear, breath warm and intimate, as he murmured, “Have you missed me, Lucy?”
The music crashed to a halt.
My heart stuttered and my lungs refused to take in air. I stumbled back, searching his face with a terrified desperation.
He released me, taking a step back, then another.
When I looked up, he was already vanishing, bowing slightly before melting into the sea of masks.
The crowd closed around him, and in an instant, he was gone.
Chapter 2
Applause rippled faintly through the ballroom as the final notes faded, the music dissolving into a low, shimmering murmur of laughter and chatter. For one suspended, impossible moment, I could not move.
I stood rooted in the center of the dance floor as though my slippers had been nailed in place. My pulse had fled somewhere beyond my reach, pounding too hard and too fast, drumming like a fist against a locked door.
It couldn’t be him.
Itcouldn’t.
That thought spun through my mind in frantic circles, like a moth beating itself senseless against a lantern flame. I felt faintly absurd for even thinking it. And yet, the ache of recognition thrummed in my heart.
The chandeliers swayed gently overhead, scattering light that seemed to pulse with each beat of my racing heart. The air pressed against me, perfume and too many bodies pressed together, thick enough to choke on.
When I finally managed to breathe, it tore free, ragged and trembling.
I turned in place, eyes raking over the sea of masks. He had been there. I had felt the heat of his hand, the weight of his gaze, the shock of a voice I hadn’t heard in years yet knew down to its marrow.
Sylum.
“Excuse me.” I murmured automatically as dancers spun past, the edges of their laughter slicing through me. Someone brushed my arm, another jostled my shoulder. The pressure of the room closed around me, tightening and tightening until I could scarcely breathe.
My head pounded and my throat burned with the remnants of champagne as I pushed through the crowd.
Feathers caught on my sleeve. Someone’s jeweled fan struck my cheek. Faces blurred, smiling and indifferent, but none of them were his.
Then, I caught a glimpse of dark hair, of a familiar posture just beyond the gilded mirrors, and my breath caught painfully. I followed, weaving between couples and waiters bearing silver trays, my vision narrowing to that singular figure ahead.
“Sylum,” I whispered, though the name barely escaped my lips.
The crowd parted and closed again in dizzying waves, swallowing him whole. I stumbled, catching myself against the carved edge of a pillar. All I could see was his silhouette drawing farther and farther away.
I was losing him.
My heart beat so violently it hurt. I had to see him again. I had to know. I had to prove that the champagne hadn’t conjured him from longing.
Then, movement caught my eye.
Across the ballroom, half turned toward the open terrace doors, stood the man in the black mask. The same poised shoulders, the same impossible stillness.
He looked back once, as though sensing my gaze... as though he were luring me to him. Even through the crowd, I felt that smile again. The one that had once undone me entirely.
And then he was gone, slipping into the night beyond the glass doors.
