But the words feel heavier than they used to.
Because now, for the first time in years, I have something to lose.
CHAPTER 9
SABLE
The package is pastel pink with sparkles.
Sparkles.
Glittery, bubble-lettered nonsense scrawled across the front in a font that screams “sponsored by a bachelorette party and poor decisions.” It’s waiting at the salon’s front desk when we open. No return address. Just a sticker:
CONFETTI SHAMPOO – for thatexplosiveshine!
Jacey lifts it delicately between two fingers like it’s a rabid possum.
“This you?” she asks.
“Nope.”
I didn’t order anything.
Voltar leans in, eyes narrowing. “Don’t touch that.”
But Jacey, in her eternal wisdom and lack of self-preservation instincts, is already tugging at the satin ribbon.
“Relax,” she says. “It’s probably from that influencer brand. The one with the octopus mascot?”
I don’t know what’s worse: that such a thing exists or that shewatchesit.
The moment the lid lifts, we all take an involuntary step back.
Not because it explodes.
But because itglows.
A soft, shimmer-pulse of light, like an expensive nightclub for extremely petty people.
And then?—
A hologram blooms.
Six feet tall.
Sharp shoulders. Shimmering suit. Smirk like he owns the whole galaxy and rents it out by the hour.
Tugun.
Real-time projection. No, not real-time. Pre-recorded. Tailored.
“Darling,” he purrs, voice like poison honey, “let’s keep this cordial.”
My breath catches.
His image walks forward—well, struts forward—in perfect sync with the recording’s programmed loop. Voltar tenses beside me, his hand hovering just shy of the weapon hesworehe wouldn’t bring into the salon.
Tugun’s holographic eyes flicker gold. Too gold.
