He laughs. “I just mean…you’re stillhere.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, watching as he’s pulled back into the crowd, drawn away by another friend.
Normally, I’d check my watch, let my mind wander, let the distance between me and the rest of the world stretch too far until I remove myself from it altogether.
“Alright, Dark and Stormy, it’s your turn,” Levi says, like he’s been waiting for just the right moment to pounce. His grin is smug, eyes sparkling as he tugs my sleeve. I don’t trust it.
I narrow my gaze. “For what?”
He nods toward a corner of the living room that’s suddenly dimmer than it was a minute ago. A single table sits cloaked invelvet, candles flickering like they’ve been enchanted to do so, and behind it, her.
“The tarot reader,” Levi says, like he’s handed me something delightful. “Time to see what fate has in store.”
Fate.
Of course.
I laugh once, flat and humorless. “I’m good.”
Levi blinks. “What, why? You scared?”
I shake my head, already taking a step backward. “Nope. Just allergic to pageantry.”
He frowns. “You wore a floor-length coat with a collar high enough to smother a child, but sure.Youhate theatrics.”
My lips twitch, but I don’t crack. Because I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to go anywhere near that table. And definitely not withhersitting behind it.
Not with Constance.
Too many mornings at city hall, chasing loopholes she swears don’t exist. Always with that same infuriating smile. Like she lives to watch me unravel one red-taped dead end at a time.
And now she’s here, of all places, in velvet, surrounded by candles, holding a deck of cards that should not be trusted.
“I just don’t like tarot,” I try again. “It’s…nonsense.”
Levi gives me a look that is all disbelief and a little disappointment. “Really? That’s your official stance?”
“It’s performative,” I add.
“Uh-huh.” His brow arches; he bumps his shoulder into mine. “Come on. If you’re gonna stick around, you have to at least pretend to be whimsical.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever pretended to be whimsical in my life.”
“Well,” he says, casually sipping his drink, “there’s a first time for everything.”
He’s not letting this go. And I’ve already let too many thingsslip tonight—my guard, my composure, my logic. Something about being around him makes it all loosen, unravel. He makes the world seem soft, harmless, even when I know better.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But if I end up cursed or possessed, I want it noted on record that this was your fault.”
“I’ll engrave it on your tombstone,” he says sweetly. “With lilies and everything.”
We walk toward the table, and I swear the room’s shadows bend inward with each step.
Constance is waiting, dramatic hood in place and hands folded neatly over the deck, like she’s been expecting this exact moment since the dawn of time.
“Well, well,” she says, tilting her head. “Didn’t think you’d sit down tonight.”
“Didn’t realize ancient torment was on the party program,” I reply.
