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EPILOGUE
ZAIYA
Edwin and I sit on our thrones on the stage of Ophidia while the club lives and breathes in front of us. Tonight, it’s fuller than usual. Bodies are pressed in tight under the bouncing lights. Aerialists hang from their hoops, rotating with patient grace. Dancers move through the crowd, covered in glitter and sweat. The bass travels through the wood and up my spine in a heartbeat we’re all sharing.
Sitting up here is sacred. Taking it all in, feeling the energy, feeling the power I hold. Edwin’s hand finds mine where it rests on the arm of my seat, and the simple act of our fingers lacing together keeps my mind from wandering too far.
The people near the stage cheer when Edwin acknowledges them. They edge closer when he makes any movement, assuming he might bless them with his attention. It’s strange being watched this way and not wanting to disappear. Strange to feel my own presence fill a room and not apologize for it.
A man pushes to the front and stops at the edge of the stage, carrying himself as though his importance should be obvious. His short platinum blonde hair makes him stand out on purpose, and the scar crossing his cheek only adds to the effect. He stands too close, hungry to be acknowledged.
“Edwin,” he calls out, voice raised over the music like he expects the club to quiet for him. “Long time no see.”
Edwin’s gaze sharpens as he decides what kind of problem this is.
“Spencer? If you’re looking for my brother—”
“No.” He leans over the stage to get closer. “I heard your dad was sick.”
Edwin stares back at him blankly. “Yeah, he was.”
Spencer’s eyes widen as realization hits. “Oh shit. Did he die?”
Edwin’s tongue runs along his teeth, showing off those sharp points.
“I hope so. He’s been entombed for two months.”
“Ah. My condolences. I figured you were the head honcho around here now.”
Something is off about this guy. My existence barely registers to him.
I lean forward. “We both are.”
His eyes slide to me like I’m an interruption. An inconvenience in a conversation between men.
“Ah, well. Can I approach, Your Honor?”
The sarcasm is grating, but I nod. I want to get a better feel for his energy.
Climbing onto the stage, he crouches at Edwin’s side, hands gripping the arm of the throne.
“I need some help finding a girl,” Spencer says. “She’s got family here. Thought I’d check with you.”
“Does she know you’re looking for her?” I ask.
He glances at me, fighting to keep his expression polite. The annoyance is there, buried under a fake smile.
“If she knew, I wouldn’t have to ask, would I?”
“Watch your tone,” Edwin warns.
Spencer dips his head, resentment brewing beneath his obedience.
“Why do you want to find her?” I ask.
“To be honest,” he says, “things didn’t end well between us, and I want to fix it.”
Red flags are flying in my head. “Did you contact her?”
