“Seems like a point to me,” she says, grinning. “A whole set of them. Defined. Pressed. Possibly sculpted by an elder god.”
I slap the setting wand into the sterilizer. “He short-circuited the smart mirror trying to install anAI perimeter. I couldn’teven check my hair this morning without triggering a lockdown protocol.”
She snorts. “You say that like it’s not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Romantic? He rerouted the apartment’s defense grid through my pressure cooker.”
“That’s love in Vakutan.”
“Jacey.”
“Sable.”
I exhale through my nose. Ms. Lo gives me a thumbs-up through the mirror while her curls tighten into delicate shockwave spirals. I pat her shoulder, then wave her off to the dryer station, where she floats happily in a haze of lavender mist.
Meanwhile, in the corner, Voltar shifts. Subtly. Like he thinks no one’s noticed his “disguise.”
It’s a pair of black-framed glasses—too small for his face—and a green scarf wrapped around his neck like he’s auditioning for an undercover opera. He holds a magazine upside down. Every page crinkles with suppressed tension, like it’s scared of being read wrong.
“You know,” Jacey says, sipping, “I think he’s trying to blend in.”
“He’s about as subtle as a plasma grenade in a library.”
“He’s watching you.”
“I know.”
“And you’re watching him.”
“No, I’m not.”
She hums like a lie detector. “You keep looking up between clients. Three-second glances. Your pupils dilate when he fidgets.”
“They do not.”
“They do. It’s adorable.”
I throw a towel at her face. She catches it with a practiced flick and folds it with one hand, still grinning.
“Just admit it,” she says. “You’re into him.”
“He’s a seven-foot war criminal.”
“With dimples.”
“And a death ray.”
“Withmanners.”
I groan and lean on the counter, staring at my own reflection. My eyes are tired. Not from lack of sleep. From tryingnotto notice things.
Like the way Voltar held the parasol yesterday. Or the weird gentleness in his voice when he asked if I was okay. Or how he didn’t flinch when I laughed at his fashion file—he just smiled like I’d handed him a gift.
He was trying.
And the worst part?
He’sgoodat it.
