Page 28 of Hunger & Harmony

I glance around to confirm, but I don’t know how it ended up just us in this spacious elevator. Was I dragging him by his bicep the entire time? I clear my throat and occupy myself with the elevator buttons.

“Sorry . . .”

“For?”

My lips form a line. Is he really gonna make me say it?

“I’m sorry for dragging you in here. I didn't realize.”

Silence. I peek through the reflective black wall to see his reaction. Niko leans against the other side, arms crossed and eyes fixed on me. A tingle shoots up my spine.

“The . . .chaos, you know. I wasn’t prepared,” I continue, as if talking more isn’t digging my grave deeper. “I grabbed Ez, too, so⁠—”

“You’d prefer him?”

I catch my own brows furrowing in confusion.

“Huh?”

My eyes flick back to his reflection, watching the way he adjusts his posture and turns his face.

“Never mind.”

Against my better judgment, I slowly turn to look at him. We’re still quite a few floors away from the destination.

Do I prefer Ezren? To him? If that’s what he’s asking, the answer is obvious.

Ezren is a good guy. He’s funny and has opened up to me, too. It’s the complete opposite of the one scowling at the corner just to avoid facing me.

His first words to me were literal insults. He’s insufferably hot and cold, and I can’t stand him. I admire Niko from a distance, but when face-to-face, he’s a petulant asshole.

All day, the answer is one hundred percent clear.

“You don’t even tolerate me,” I mumble.

His hands twitch. The elevator slows.

“Ez is a friend,” I continue. “It’s not about preference. I don’t even know you, Your Majesty.”

What is the point of this conversation? Even watching his eyes widen subtly, I hate how my stomach leaps. I hate the inkling of hope that overstays in my heart. The doors slide open, and I turn away from him.

“You’d run to the furthest corners of Aurea if you got any closer to me.”

I stiffen. Did he say that out loud? I don’t stay to find out, hurrying out of the elevator and blindly up the hallway to create distance.

Because I’m sure he didn’t say it. I know he didn’t.

And I’ve never heard the wrong notes take form in someone’s voice before.

7

CHROMATIC

Scars are still scars, even when they come with fanfare.

Fans swarm as Arteria exit the Gravemont venue. I hang in the back, letting the guards do their jobs for the band. Security is tight, and paired with the swell of hysterical enthusiasm surrounding us, the midnight air turns stifling. It was a successful show, and I saw what Ezren meant when he said their most loyal fans were here.

I still can’t ignore it. While most people shouting and reaching for Arteria do so in love, tension remains. Signs sprout from the back, and I don’t miss the blood under our shoes or the venomous threats weaving within the crowd’s screams.