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I feel chosen.

But before he reaches me…

… there’s a commotion at the door.

I turn my head like everybody else does.

A woman has arrived.

She’s in the doorway handing off a fur to a coat check attendant. Black dress, wet-look hair pushed back off her forehead.

Tall. Thin. High cheekbones and pouty lips, a face that should be twenty feet high on a cosmetics billboard.

“Alisa,” mutters Niko.

Then he coughs and glances over. I don’t think I was supposed to hear that.

“Should I know who that is?” I ask.

“Nah,” he lies. “Just a regular at these things. She comes every year. Her dad is somebody.”

“What kind of somebody.”

“Oh, just, y’know. Somebody somebody.”

That’s fine. I know how these things go. Didn’t I see a miniature version of this play out at Maison d’Hiver earlier today?

The eyes flocking toward her are proof of what’s coming.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Vivian or an Alisa or a nameless saleswoman hawking French couture.

I know what comes next.

So I don’t panic. It’s calm and nothing but calm inside me right now.

I turn my back on Alisa completely and watch Kane’s face to await the inevitable.

Here’s how it’ll go:

First, the eyes will leave. That part happens fast.

Then the smile will die. The one aimed at me? That’s gonna wither up like a dead cockroach.

Then the body angles. One shoulder. One foot.

Until he’s oriented toward this new, beautiful north star like she’s his new center of gravity.

As for me?

I’ll be left behind.

The curvy girl in the corner. Once again a victim of The Shift.

23

DELILAH

But The Shift never comes.