Resolutely, I reach for the black corset peeking out from beneath the silver dress, nudging the silver material carefully to the side, careful not to disturb the dress more than I need to.
Every time it moves, its material hums, a captivating sound.
So captivating that I pause, closing my eyes, attempting to ignore the melody’s beauty.
I may as well try to ignore my own heartbeat.
With a determined exhalation, I pull the black corset out from under the material and prepare to wrap it around my chest, only to jolt to a stop.
A glint of silver on my arm makes me gasp.
Slowly… Very slowly… I turn my right arm over so I can see its underside.
I gasp at the way the blade’s metal tip has risen out of my arm, sharp and golden, solid once more.
Caught against its edge is a single silver thread.
A thread that is slowly unraveling from the side of the dress, where the blade must have snagged it.
I freeze, my heart sinking and then hammering in my chest.
Did I accidentally scrape the dress when I reached for the corset?
Afraid to make any sudden movements, I allow the corset to slide to the floor, abandoning it in favor of freeing my left hand.
Reaching for the loose thread caught beneath the blade’stip, I pinch it carefully between my thumb and forefinger and slide it painstakingly out from beneath the golden metal.
As soon as the thread slips free, the blade sinks back into my arm, and the thread stops unraveling.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Lowering my right arm out of the way, I step closer to the dress, bending over it, intending to place the thread carefully onto its surface, and then I’ll back away and refrain from going near it again.
I open my thumb and forefinger, waiting for the thread to float downward.
The breath catches in my throat when the strand defies gravity, sticking to the pad of my forefinger.
As carefully as I can, I pluck at it with my right hand, tugging it away only for it to stick to my right thumb. Then back onto my left forefinger. No matter how hard I try to get it off, it simply transfers from one finger to the next.
Dammit. It’s like a spiderweb.
I resort to pressing my thumb down onto the material, dragging it a little, hoping to dislodge the thread, only for the strand to roll along my thumb and get caught under my fingernail.
I can’t stop my exasperated sigh. “Really?”
Pressing my free arm across my bare breasts to cover them, I prepare to call for help when the doors fly open.
I freeze once more, suddenly shaken to the core.
Both Antony and Cassia are down on their knees, their hands pressed to their ears.
Cassia’s face is deathly pale, her mouth moving, her chest heaving, as if she’s screaming as loudly as she can.
Antony’s steel-clad head is lowered, and his shoulders are hunched. He could be shouting, but I wouldn’t know.
I can’thear a sound.
It’s perfectly calm around me.
