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There it is. The old life motto, confirmed.

If I have something she wants, she takes it.

If someone needs me, I’m kept.

But wanted?

Never.

Never, ever, ever.

Thank God for it, actually. I have been walking around all night with a crack in my psychological foundation and no idea what was underneath it.

Turns out, nothing was. Things are the same as they’ve always been.

Same old world.

Same old me.

“It’s okay,” I croak. “No need to elaborate. I understand the situation perfectly.”

The band cuts off mid-phrase. There’s a squeal of feedback and a cheer, and the bandleader is shouting something, and out in the middle of the ballroom two hundred people are lifting their glasses, preparing to greet a new year that will surely bring them love and riches and happiness.

I’m happy for them. Really. I am.

I just know I’m not one of them.

“Lilah—”

“Happy New Year, Kane.”

And I walk away.

I go out through the archway with the shawl clutched at my throat.

Past the pyramid of oranges.

Past the ice eagle, which by now is dripping into its silver tray.

Nobody stops me. Everybody’s facing the other way. I’m invisible to them now.

Out in the lobby, the noise drops to a hum. The black-and-white marble is so shiny that I can see the whole two stories of the ceiling in it.

The brass staircase sweeps up to the second floor, up toward that little room with the couch and the bulbs around the mirror. A place where I once dared to call myself pretty.

The girl behind the coat check counter glances up at me.

“Hi,” I say. “I don’t have my ticket, actually, but I’m just looking for a black cardigan. It’ll be near the front. I came in early.”

She looks past my shoulder at the ballroom doors. Then back at me.

“You’re leaving?” she says, confused. “Now? Before the countdown?”

Behind her, muffled through two closed doors, two hundred voices start to roar together.

“Ten. Nine. Eight…”

“Yeah,” I tell the girl. “I’m not in such a partying mood after all.”