Page 27

Lennie sits behind the desk scrolling absently through his phone, one leg bouncing lightly beneath the table. He smiles when he catches me looking at him, but my stomach still drops. Was that smile different? Smaller? Or am I imagining it?

Since yesterday I’ve found myself analysing every look, every pause, every silence, searching for the moment everything falls apart. He’s been quiet all morning, ever since his run with Jax. I feel my stomach tighten again. Maybe he’s tired. Or maybe he knows. The thought sinks its claws into me instantly. He’s a shrewd man, maybe he noticed something and he’s just waiting for the right moment to ask why I’ve been lying to him.

“Luna?”

I blink hard, dragging myself back into the moment.

He furrows his brow. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I answer, too quickly. “Just tired.” Another lie. Does he hear it? Can people hear lies when they’ve loved you for over thirty years?

His eyes linger on me for just a fraction too long before he nods slowly. “The stall looks amazing.”

Relief and guilt hit me together. “Doesn’t it? I can’t believe we’ve pulled this off.”

“You’ve pulled this off.” He smiles, properly this time. “I’m proud of you.”

I smile because anything else would look suspicious, but inside, my heart caves in. I’m about to confess everything when Saint appears from the neighbouring stall carrying an armful of folded t-shirts.

“Right,” he announces loudly. “I’m all set and I’ve got those t-shirts you wanted Lennie.”

Lennie immediately feigns innocence. “Me?”

I laugh, light and easy enough that neither of them notices the tightness behind it. My eyes flicking briefly to the small pile of t-shirts Saint hands to Lennie. Honestly, after everything I’ve done, a few stupid t-shirts are the least he deserves.

Needing a second to myself, I drift away from them for a moment, letting my attention settle on Saint’s stall instead. It is fabulous. Black clothing rails run down either side of the space, displaying hand-painted leather jackets like pieces in a designer showroom. From the backing boards at the back more jackets hang elegantly at either side of an illuminated sign reading ‘Midnight Saints Atelier’ in soft white lettering. And honestly? It looks professional, stylish, curated, and expensive.

The jacket on the left catches my eye first, it’s a scene from The Strigoi, featuring a vampire couple beneath a crimson moon. It’s so beautiful and realistic I have to resist the urge to touch it. His work is truly breathtaking.

At the front of his little boutique, he’s set up a long black table alongside a tall shelving unit where officially licensed T-shirts are folded into impossibly neat colour-coordinated stacks. Small metal signs label collections by fandom, making them look high fashion.

“Come on,” Saint says eventually, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go be nosy before the public ruin everything.”

In the next aisle over we find Bri and Ember. Ember’s stall looks like a serial killer’s garage sale, in the best possible way of course. Fake blood spatters her tablecloths, where sculpted skulls lay alongside severed limbs and horror masks. Tiny jars filled with fake teeth and eyeballs sit on shelving near the back, balanced nicely beside silicone wounds so realistic they make my stomach turn.

“It smells weirdly nice here,” Saint says, taking a hearty sniff of the air around him.

“Lavender oil,” Ember tells him proudly while zip-tying a decapitated head to a display stand. "The smell helps to sooth my nerves."

Bri’s table to the side of hers is the complete opposite. Clean. Professional. Beautiful. Everything styled around the black and gold aesthetic of her romantasy novel.

She’s woven warm fairy lights and faux ivy across the top of her display, where acrylic bookstands hold copies of her novel upright so that the cover catches the light. Matching bookmarks finished with gold tassels sit next to a tray of stickers, depicting characters and sigils from her story. It’s magical. Especially when you notice the little glass jars filled with glittering 'dragon dust' scattered around the setup next to battery operated candles that make the whole table glow warmly against the darker colours.

Behind her table, a giant standing banner displays the cover artwork in full, the gold detailing almost shimmering beneath the convention lights. The entire stall looks less like a trader table and more like you’ve stepped into the merch shop of an expensive fantasy franchise.

“Oh my god, Bri, This looks amazing," I tell her honestly.

She lights up. “Really?”

“Really. You look like an actual author.”

“I am an actual author,” she breathes, like it’s just hitting her.

“If you ladies are finished setting up, we’re going to take a look around,” Lennie interrupts excitedly.

“Definitely,” Ember squeals, practically jumping out of her stall.

Bri smiles, shifting her extra stock under the table before joining us. “Sounds good.”