Some look like they could devour me. Others seem to think I’m not worth devouring.
Fuck this. All of it. I should’ve stayed in my room, claiming sickness, but Emmie was so sure. And I wanted to look good for him. I wanted to prove to him that none of this shit means anything to me and that I’m ready to admit it now.
But I don’t see Legend anywhere.
Just faces I don’t recognize staring at me like I’m an outcast, which I am. I’d fought hard to keep my place in their uptight world. I failed some classes, but passed others, I haven’t killed a single fucking person since I first got here. Yet they still stand here, high on their horses, and look down at me as if I’m lesser.
And Legend wonders why I hate them all.
Where the fuck is he?
I cut through the crowd of Fae with their sharp grins, eyes tracking me like I’m the main course. A cluster of warlocks nearly knocks me over, reeking of burned magic and whoever they took to bed last night. And then there are the giftless, clinging to the walls like they’re afraid the floor might swallow them whole, all wide eyes and desperate energy, praying someone notices them.
I feel the weight of stares digging into my back. Hear the whisper of voices that drop to silence when I glance their way. Resent the way the air itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for me to crack.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere to my left—high, fake, the kind that’s meant to be heard. I don’t look. My focus narrows, sharpens, slices through the noise like a honed blade.
He’s here. He has to be.
The bond wouldn’t let him stay away, not when I’m in a room full of predators who’d love nothing more than to see me bleed.
But the seconds stretch. The crowd doesn’t part. The bond stays quiet.
And the hollow space in my chest spreads wider with every breath I take.
My fingers tighten around the clutch until the leather creaks. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should’ve told Emmie to shove the dress and the hope up her—
There.
My breath catches.
Leaning against one of the bone pillars near the far wall, drink in hand, looking like he rolled out of bed and decided indifference was a better outfit than whatever the fuck everyone else is wearing. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. No jacket. No tie. Just Legend being Legend and somehow making everyone else in the room look like they’re trying too hard.
Relief floods through me, hot and immediate.
Then dies just as fast.
Because he’s not looking at me.
He’s staring at his glass like it holds the answers to questions he hasn’t asked yet. Swirling the amber liquid. Bored. Distant. Like I’m not evenhere.
What the fuck?
I take a step forward. Then another. The crowd parts without me asking, bodies shifting away like I’m contagious. Fine. Let them. My eyes stay locked on him, waiting for that moment when he’ll sense me, when the bond will snap tight and pull his attention where it belongs.
Nothing.
He brings the glass to his lips, drinks, doesn’t even glance up.
My stomach twists.
This isn’t right. Healwaysknows when I’m near. Always. It’s like his entire body is tuned to some frequency only I broadcast, and he can’t help but lock on.
But now?
Now he’s acting like I’m furniture.
I’m five feet away when I stop, suddenly unsure. The music swells around us, all wrong, too loud, filling the space between us with noise that sounds like mockery.
