When I glance back, Skye’s expression has changed again. No longer confused, but something much deeper. Her jaw is set, and her eyes are fixed on mine.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I continue pointing into the crowd and waving at fans as I put on the show I promised Ollie and Michel.
And Tommy, of course.
The band carries me through as I wrap the room in my voice. Applause is rising in waves, but all I can feel is the pull of the one gaze I met for too long.
I stay in character and keep singing. I let Solace take the lead while I tuck Violet away, forgetting I recognized the broody glare in those dark eyes among the crowd.
The show goes on. Even when my heart is pounding loud enough that I swear Skye can hear it.
Chapter Twenty
Skye
The bass is thumping through the floor and up my legs, a pulse that seems to keep in time with the roar of the crowd. Lights are sweeping across the stage in streaks of purple and white, catching the raised hands of the fans all around us. Paige and Rissa are still laughing like hyenas at the fact that Riley didn’t guess the opening song correctly.
All I hear is the two of them yelling “MAGIC MISHAP! MAGIC MISHAP!” over and over as Riley sticks her fingers in her ears to ignore them.
Solace stands in the middle of it like the eye of a storm. Her glittery bodice catches the light, hair damp with sweat and sticking to her mask as she leans into the mic. The crowd is eating up every word, and it’s easy to see why. Even from here, halfway back in the pit, she commands the entire room.
I should be focused on the celebration. That’s why we’re here. Instead, my attention keeps snagging on one stupid detail.
The mark on the inside of Solace’s thigh.
I know it’s there. I can’t help thinking I put it there. A thin mark hidden high enough that nobody else would notice unless they’re told.
My jaw tightens as the stage explodes with lights again and the next song comes crashing in. The opening chord is sharp enough to slice through my thoughts, but my gaze snaps back to the stage. Solace is already looking in my direction. Not at the crowd, but at me.
The distance should make it impossible. There are hundreds of people between us with lights flashing and speakers thumping. But somehow our eyeslock like she’s been waiting to find me. For a second, the rest of the room disappears. The noise, the music, everything. Just that look in her eyes, a look that I know very well.
I know.
Violet looks at me like that when she thinks I’m not paying attention, like she’s gauging my reactions and studying my every move.
My chest tightens. Solace doesn’t react. No flicker of surprise or hesitation. She keeps singing, her voice smooth and controlled as if this moment never happened.
She’s professional and untouchable.
But her gaze lingers a half second too long before sliding past me and back into the crowd.
It’s her. It has to be.
Violet isn’t a surgeon at her local hospital. I should have known that when she said she was here for a few weeks. Surgeons can’t possibly take that long to go on vacation.
Or maybe they can, and this whole thing is all a sick thought my brain is concocting.
But then my eyes find hers again, and I can’t kick this feeling in my gut.
Violet is Solace. Solace is Violet.
A sharp spike of anger shoots through me so fast that I almost feel dizzy.
All those conversations. All of her half answers. All the times Violet disappeared with some vague excuse.
Because she was here. Performing in front of thousands of people. Putting on an act like she has been with me for the last few weeks.
My mind flips through memories like someone shuffling cards too fast to see them clearly.
