TRISTAN
The moment Celeste turned away, moving through the crowd with every whisper of the ballroom chasing her, a sharp ache coiled in my chest. I froze where I stood, the music swelling around me, but it no longer reached my ears. The glances, the gasps, the murmurs—all of it faded into the background. My eyes, stubborn and unrelenting, followed her until she disappeared behind a golden pillar.
I clenched my jaw, my fingers twitching. Every fiber of me screamed to go after her, to pull her into my arms and never let her go. But reason… the damned, burning reason… whispered that it was too public, too dangerous, too everything.
A soft cough near my side broke my focus.
Lyra.
Her hand brushed lightly against my arm, her touch deliberate, commanding. She didn't need to speak to claim my attention. But of course, she did.
"Tristan," she said smoothly, her voice low and dangerous, pulling me from the haze Celeste had left. "This… this isn't a game. You need to take my hand."
