Page 128 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“It is what it is.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. “What if I don’t want this to be over?”

She squared her shoulders. “That isn’t my problem,” she said. The words tasted like ash. The silence that followed felt sharp enough to cut.

“I don’t understand,” he said finally. “Last night . . . Cassia, we—” He broke off. Rapid footsteps placed him in front of her. “We didn’t just have sex. We bonded. That meant something.”

She looked up and braved his eyes. “All bonds will vanish when they’re not nurtured and renewed. So will this one.”

He flinched, hurt flickering in his eyes. His pain ricocheted inside her own chest.

“I don’t want it to vanish,” he said.

“Oh, stop it,” she cut in before her resolve could shatter. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

He stared at her. “Harder for who? You? Because it sure as hell is already agony for me.”

She tugged her dress around her waist, hands shaking. “Don’t make this about you.”

“I’m in this too, Cassia. And I thought—I’d hoped—we were on the same page.”

“You were wrong.” She stood, voice rising. “I wanted to save Starlight. That’s all this ever was.”

“No.” His voice cut through the space between them—sharp, frayed, edged in pain. “No. It started with Starlight, but it’s grown into something much bigger. Don’t lie to me. You don’t get to rewrite what this was.”

“I’m not rewriting anything,” she snapped. “You know Starlight’s deed has been transferred. The orphanage is dead and buried. It’s all gone, Ark. It’s over. And so is whatever this was.”

With that, Cassia grabbed her coat from where it had been dropped to the floor last night. She reached into the pocket and pulled out the small drawstring bag—the one she’d carried everywhere, tucked against her heart like a talisman, nestled into her pocket like a secret. She upended it. His hair—dark, still faintly glowing with his magic—scattered across the floor between them.

The moment it left her hand, she felt their contract unraveling. Not all at once, but in a slow, sickening pull—like a scab being peeled away from a healing wound. The magic that had bound them since the teahouse twisted in her chest, thinning, fraying, each strand snapping with a small, precise pain that radiated outward from behind her ribs. She tasted copper on her tongue. Her vision blurred, and she had to lock her knees to keep from staggering.

Ark sucked in a sharp breath. He’d felt it too.

She looked up at him. His face was exactly what she’d been afraid to see. His gaze lingered on the scattered hair on the floor, the token he’d cut with his own hand now lying like dust at their feet. His mouth parted, but no sound came.

Her hands were still trembling from the severance. She pressed them flat against her thighs and held his gaze, praying he couldn’t see how close she was to breaking.

“If you don’t want anything to do with me,” he said, voice cracking at the edges, “then why did you still come to the ball?”

She straightened her shoulders and forced a flippant shrug. “Because I wanted to attend the biggest, most talked-about event of the season. And you were my ticket.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Only stared. Then he let out a low, hollow laugh, the sound a serrated knife to her heart.

“If you’re going to lie, you’ve got to do better than that,” he said. “Any other woman, maybe. But not you.”

She glared at him, eyes burning. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you like I know my own shadows—by heart, and in the dark.”

The words lodged like a stake in her chest. She wanted to pull it out. She couldn’t. He watched her, silent, his expression shifting—rawness pulling back, chill sliding into place.

“Someone got to you. Who was it? Alderrath? Did he threaten you? Use Starlight as leverage?”

She retreated until she was against the wall. “No! It’s not like that⁠—”

“My mother?” He took another step forward. “What did she say? What did she do?”

“Stop it!” she cried, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Just let me go!”