Theea
yla
I glance between them— Kaisel , Calypso , and Vesper ’s voice slicing through it all like moonlight gone cold—and the drink in my hand feels a little too light. “Oh, I was there,” I say offhanded. “At the last party. When Kaisel danced with Flora and me. I guess I didn’t realize how serious things were when it came to Calypso.”
My voice is a little unsure, a little too careful, not because I did anything wrong—but because I feel like I’m stepping into a story mid-chapter and trying to pretend I’ve always known the plot.
My eyes flick instinctively toward the bar—to Jack . He’s watching, impassive. Sharp lines and darker edges. My chest tugs a little tighter when I realize he struck Kaisel with lightning. I didn’t know that kind of violence lurked in him. Not behind the dry quips and the way he’d remembered me, even poured my drink without needing to ask.
It rattles me. But it doesn’t scare me.
My parents were assassins. I grew up knowing gentleness and danger could live in the same body. That kindness doesn’t mean softness. That a smile doesn’t mean safe.
I take another sip of my drink—nearly gone now—watching the drama unfold like it’s been staged with glitter and birthday hats and too much tequila. I’ve never been this involved in other people’s stories before, even though I’m not really. Not even technically. But I know them now. Calypso and Kaisel. Jack. I’ve met them, watched them, drank with them. We’re not friends, but I’ve been welcomed. And something in me is slowly softening to it. Letting it become my new rhythm. My new way of life.
When Vesper goes cool, slipping velvet over razors for his sister’s sake, I don’t move. Just tip my glass and sip, happy to watch him work.
Colt leans closer and speaks low—“Might wanna pace yourself, sugar…”—and I glance down at my glass, blinking. Yeah. Almost empty.
I let out a quiet laugh, cheeks warm, and nod. “Yeah, good point. I only had my first drink at Flora’s party.” I pause, glancing back at her with a dry little smile. “I took one of Frey’s aging shortcuts. Emotionally catching up might take longer.”
My voice is a little unsure, a little too careful, not because I did anything wrong—but because I feel like I’m stepping into a story mid-chapter and trying to pretend I’ve always known the plot.
My eyes flick instinctively toward the bar—to Jack . He’s watching, impassive. Sharp lines and darker edges. My chest tugs a little tighter when I realize he struck Kaisel with lightning. I didn’t know that kind of violence lurked in him. Not behind the dry quips and the way he’d remembered me, even poured my drink without needing to ask.
It rattles me. But it doesn’t scare me.
My parents were assassins. I grew up knowing gentleness and danger could live in the same body. That kindness doesn’t mean softness. That a smile doesn’t mean safe.
I take another sip of my drink—nearly gone now—watching the drama unfold like it’s been staged with glitter and birthday hats and too much tequila. I’ve never been this involved in other people’s stories before, even though I’m not really. Not even technically. But I know them now. Calypso and Kaisel. Jack. I’ve met them, watched them, drank with them. We’re not friends, but I’ve been welcomed. And something in me is slowly softening to it. Letting it become my new rhythm. My new way of life.
When Vesper goes cool, slipping velvet over razors for his sister’s sake, I don’t move. Just tip my glass and sip, happy to watch him work.
Colt leans closer and speaks low—“Might wanna pace yourself, sugar…”—and I glance down at my glass, blinking. Yeah. Almost empty.
I let out a quiet laugh, cheeks warm, and nod. “Yeah, good point. I only had my first drink at Flora’s party.” I pause, glancing back at her with a dry little smile. “I took one of Frey’s aging shortcuts. Emotionally catching up might take longer.”
Know I'm gonna get there somehow, take it all in and breathe out
I got everything I need now, think I'm done looking down,
got my head in the clouds
I got everything I need now, think I'm done looking down,
got my head in the clouds
