Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The convention center explodes with sound as Ewan McManus announces the end of the competition in his drill-sergeant bark. Aksel is the only one still holding a machine.
I can’t hear what the host says to him over the roar, but I watch as Aksel steps away from his station with a calm wave to the rest of us. He walks straight to the audience and takes a seat beside his parents. Right next to my mom.
When he catches me staring, he grins and gives me a thumbs-up.
My stomach flips. My face burns as he winks and blows me a kiss.
The cameras move in close, massive screens lighting up with the finished tattoos. “You have five minutes to vote in the Tattoo Spectacle app,” the host announces. “Vote one for Eric’s greyscale Cerberus. Vote two for Layla’s rainbow angel. Vote three for Hale’s sea-meets-air harpy and merman.”
The monologue rolls on, sponsors, guests, filler, but I barely hear it.
Eric’s Cerberus is exactly what you’d expect from him: bold, dramatic, guarding the gates of Hades with snarling intensity. Layla’s angel is smaller but impossibly detailed, cradling a bundled baby beneath a rainbow, a young family silhouetted below. It’s beautiful and devastating in equal measures.
All of us gave everything we had today.
The final seconds crawl by, then suddenly it’s time.
Eric, Layla, and I grip each other’s hands as the host announces the results.
“In third place, winning ten thousand dollars in equipment and supplies…” A pause that feels cruel. “Eric Stanton!”
“Damn,” Eric mutters, grinning anyway. “Good luck, babes.”
We hug him hard. He kisses the host’s cheek, because of course he does, before heading off to join Aksel, leaving the poor man visibly flustered as the crowd howls.
“Cute,” Layla whispers.
I smile.
Ewan regains control. “In second place, winning a year with the prestigious Ink-credible team, traveling the world and learning from some of the best artists on Earth…”
Another endless pause. “Layla Eliopoulos!”
My ears ring as the host’s voice shifts, announcing first place. Announcing me. A million dollars. My name. My win. Goosebumps rush up my arms as my ears begin to ring. I feel like I’m in shock. I can’t believe it.
Laylacrushesmeinahugasrealityfinallycrashes in.
Ihalfexpectthemtotellmemynamehaschanged and I didn’t actually win. Noise fades as the shock of my win hits home.
I did it.
Familiar arms wrap around me, strong and solid. Aksel. His cinnamon scent hits me instantly, and I bury my face in his neck as tears spill freely.
Tears of joy that I won. Tears of grief that my dad isn’t alive to see me make it big in life despite his attempts to fuck it up. Tears of frustration that Aksel didn’t get to finish,sowe’llneverknowwhichofuswould’vewonhad he done so. Tearsof relief that I’ll never have to worry about money again. Tears of gratitude because my mom is here.
I pull back just enough to look at him. “Gods,” I breathe, wrecked and overwhelmed, “I fucking love you.”
His grin goes soft and stupid, dimple popping. “I fucking love you too, Fylgja.”
He kisses me, deep, messy, and unapologetic, while the crowd roars and the host keeps talking, and for a moment, none of it matters.
