Theea
True is false, who is who?
"Yeah, I made it," I tell Nikandr with a grin, my voice a little breathless from all the noise and color around us. "It’s making me dizzy trying to keep all the names and faces straight—but I found my family."And then—
Sunjata. The Flood himself. I’d heard the name, and he’s instantly recognizable even behind the mask—tall, storm-eyed, all confidence and ocean-shadow. I try to play it cool, but the second his attention shifts toward me, my composure cracks. My eyes go wide. "I’m, uh—"
Niki, bless him, cuts in before I make a fool of myself, introducing me for me. I shoot him a grateful look that melts into amusement when he immediately starts coughing on a shot like it’s trying to fight its way back out. I can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes me.
Glancing toward the table, I eye the row of shots, but decide against tempting fate. Instead, I lift the drink I’ve been nursing—a light amber concoction, sweet and citrusy on the first sip, warm and smooth underneath. It slips down easy, the faint fizz tickling my tongue and leaving a heat that blooms slowly in my chest. Definitely safer than whatever tried to strangle Niki.
That’s when Flora appears again, curls tousled, her gown askew, scratches peeking along her back—but still looking utterly stunning. I just assume she got caught in the crowd or wandered somewhere wild; it doesn’t occur to me to think otherwise.
"Hey, how do you know Bassian?" I ask her, curiosity lighting my voice.
curl of lip, swirl of gown
