“Right this way.”
I hold out my hand and she takes it without hesitation, the warmth of her fingers seeps into my skin. As we start toward the hallway, I glance back and wave to the others. Kiri lifts his glass in a lazy salute, Ronan gives a small nod, already deep in conversation with someone from the lighting crew. Rithy, though, he just knocks back another shot and signals for the bartender to pour him another. I sigh, the sound almost lost under the music. Then I turn back, focusing onherand we leave, together.
Chapter 30
Persephone
Rafe
The walk down the corridor feels absurdly long. Every step echoes louder than it should, and my brain latches onto anything that isn’t her hand still in mine, an ice machine humming like white noise, the flicker of a vending machine light, a tray of half-eaten room service left outside someone’s door. I focus on those things like they’re sacred, anything to stop myself from thinkingdon’t screw this up.
When we reach my door, I manage to unlock it on the first try, no fumbling, no dropped keycard, it’s such a simple victory but I still celebrate it internally like I’ve just won a Grammy. Inside, the lights are soft, the city beyond the balcony glass still pulsing faintly in reflection.
“Do you want another drink?” I ask, trying to sound casual, not like my pulse is beating in double time. “I, uh… have that peach soju I told you about. The one I swore by.”
She nods, smile small but easy. “Sounds good in lieu of Polish vodka.”
I pull it from the mini-fridge, rummage for something resembling cups, two flimsy hotel plastics, meant for toothbrushes or post hangover hydration, definitely not for ritual drinking, and pour us both asplash. When we lift them, they crinkle in our hands, and the “clink” is so pitiful, we both dissolve into laughter.
“We should drink to health,” she says once we calm down, voice certain. “To the song tomorrow, to success. It’s tradition in Poland to keep eye contact to show your toast is sincere. So no looking away or everything goes wrong.”
Before I can process it, our cups are raised, and her eyes are locked on mine, we feel wrapped together in something that feels far too intimate to be a joke.
“You sayNa zdrowie,” she tells me, never losing her focus on my gaze and the sound of it rolls through me like a chord change.
“Na—” I start, but she corrects me, laughing, patient.
“nah ZDROH-vyeh.”
She says it slower this time, and I swear I can feel the syllables on my skin. Her mouth shapes it like something I could fall into.
I blink hard, pull my gaze back to her eyes instead of her lips, not that either view is any easier on my system. “Na zdrowie,” I try again.
She grins. “Perfect. Now drink before my arm falls off.”
We tip the cups to the side, never breaking eye contact. The soju burns sweet, mild, but the moment is anything but. Everything feels intense, charged, singing under the surface. Desperate for distraction, I grab my notebook from the table and drop onto the bed, leaning against the headboard like it’s armor. She settles near the foot of the mattress, her attention already caught by the scattered pages of lyrics.
I hand her a few, the translations mixed between my scrawled drafts. She reads in silence, head tilted slightly. The curve of her hair catches the lamplight. She points at one verse and smiles faintly.
“This one,” she says. “It’s really good.”
I glance down, forgetting which page it even is.
If the night dares forget your name,
I’ll sing it till the stars remember why.
Constellations don’t ask permission—
just paint our burning along the sky.
“Really? You think so?” My voice sounds uncertain, which I hate. “I wasn’t sure about that one.”
She nods, eyes still on the words. “No. It’s just right. It’s the feeling.”
That lands somewhere deep. I grin before I can stop it, not the smirk I’ve trained into existence for work, but the real thing. The kind that warms my chest and makes me forget how to breathe properly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, watching her fingertips trace the edge of the page. “The feeling.”
