I shake my head and regret it instantly when the room tilts. “I’m fine,” I mutter, though fine isn’t quite right. My arms feel heavy, and my knees soft.
“Careful,” she says softly.
I push off the counter to straighten up, and my legs wobble. The edges of the mirror blur; dark spots creep in at the corners of my vision. I blink hard, trying to clear it, but the blink hangs.
“You don’t look fine,” she says again, and the way she watches me makes something cold skitter down my spine.
Panic licks at my ribs. “Lucian—” I try to call, but it comes out thin, a whisper that barely leaves my throat.
Her head tilts, and a satisfied smile crosses her lips.
Then the floor tilts for real.
40
Lucian
Iglance at my watch again. She’s been gone too long.
At first, I tell myself she just needed a second to breathe, maybe to touch up her makeup. The minutes keep folding over each other, and the bathroom door stays out of sight, tucked down the hallway by the stage. A low hum starts under my ribs, the coil that lives there tightening whenever she slips beyond reach. It used to be easy to laugh off; tonight it feels like a live wire.
I catch Shiloh’s eye across the table. She is mid-laugh at something Linkin said, but when she sees my face, the laugh dies, and her smile drops. “What?”
“Celeste went to the restroom almost ten minutes ago. Can you get eyes on her? Just make sure she didn’t fall asleep on the toilet or get stuck in a line.”
Her brows pull together. “She went to the women’s restroom. There’s always a line. Are you really that worried?”
“With everything going on, yeah, I’m just being cautious. Would you please go check?”
She nods and slips from the booth, moving toward the hallway. My palms itch and my pulse thuds against my ribs like a war drum. The air in the booth feels thin and fragile.
Time stretches. I keep my eyes pinned to the hallway until Shiloh finally reappears. She is walking fast, her mouth is set in a hard line, and the way she moves makes my stomach drop before she even reaches us.
Her eyes are wide as she confirms my biggest fear. “She’s not in there. I checked every stall, and I called her name. Nothing.” Shiloh swallows and looks toward the hallway. “There’s a service exit past the bathrooms that dumps into the alley. It’s closed, but there is a brick on the floor next to the door.”
I move before my brain finishes catching up. The second Shiloh says alley, I’m already pushing out of the booth. Linkin is right behind me. We cut through the crowd until I spot the waitress who brought the drink.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping in her path. “I need to know exactly who bought the drink for the woman who was with us earlier.”
Her eyes widen, tray dipping. “Oh, uh—I, uh… I got it from the bar. The bartender, Bryce, passed it to me.”
“Take me to him,” I demand.
She nods and leads us to the long counter. The bartender, broad-shouldered with a beard, looks up mid-pour.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“A redhead ordered a drink and had it sent to the blonde who played the piano earlier,” I say, my words clipped. “Who was the redhead?”
He thinks for a second, then frowns. “I don’t remember her name. She wasn’t a fan of small talk, and she paid in cash.”
My jaw locks. “Did she touch the drink?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. It was a miscommunication on my end. I gave it to her, thinking it was for her. She grabbed the glass from me, and I turned to help someone else. Not even a second later, she’s waving me back over, saying it’s for the singer and not her. She gave it back, asked me to send it out so she didn’t seem weird.”
The sentence lands like a fist in my stomach
“You should have remade it.” I fight not to shout the words at him.
