I hurry toward the kitchen, my mind racing. The diamond in my chest is throbbing now, its energy threatening to spill over. I can't let that happen. Not here. Not with them so close.
The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, the chefs moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. The heat hits me like a wall, the scent of sizzling meat and simmering sauces overwhelming my senses. I slip into the chaos, my boots silent on the tiled floor. The chefs are busy, their backs turned as they chop, sauté, and plate dishes with precision. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Focus, Layla. You can do this.
I reach for the magic within me, the ancient power that's been a part of me since birth. It's not something I use often—it's risky, draining, and leaves me vulnerable. But I have no choice. I need to mask the diamond's energy to hide it from those who seek it.
The magic surges through me, hot and wild, like a river of fire. It's both exhilarating and terrifying, a force that threatens to consume me if I'm not careful. I channel it, weaving a spell around the diamond, encasing it in a shield of illusion. It's not perfect—nothing ever is—but it'll buy me time. My knees buckle as the spell takes hold, and I lean against the stainless steel counter, gasping for breath. The room spins, the smells and sounds blurring together in a nauseating mix.
"Layla?"
Alden's voice startles me, and I straighten, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Just a little dizzy," I lie, my voice hoarse. "Nothing to worry about."
He steps closer, his eyes searching mine, his concern written in every line of his face. "You're sure? You look… pale."
"I'm fine," I insist, though my voice wavers. The magic has taken its toll, leaving me shaky and weak. "I just need to get out of here. Now."
He nods, his expression grim, his usual flippancy replaced by a rare seriousness. "I'll create another distraction. Meet me at the back exit in five minutes."
I don't argue. I don't have the energy to. "Thanks," I whisper, turning toward the door.
The kitchen feels suffocating now, the heat from the ovens pressing against my skin like a physical weight. I move quickly, my boots silent on the tiled floor. As I reach the back exit, I pause, my hand hovering over the handle. The diamond is still throbbing, but it's fainter now, the spell holding—for the moment.
I push the door open, the cool night air washing over me like a balm. It's a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the kitchen, and I breathe deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. Alden is waiting by the dumpster, his flamboyant attire somehow blending into the shadows, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of the danger we're in.
"Ready?" he asks, his voice low, his amber eyes flicking to the diamond pendant around his neck, a gift from me, a symbol of our bond.
I nod, though I'm far from ready. My body feels heavy, my mind foggy from the exertion of the spell. "Let's go."
We move quickly, sticking to the alleys and side streets. The city is alive around us—the hum of traffic, the distant laughter of passersby, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows. But I'm hyperaware of every sound, every movement. They could be anywhere, watching, waiting.
"Do you think they followed us?" I ask, my voice tight, my breath coming in short gasps.
Alden shakes his head, his strides long and purposeful. "Not yet. But we can't risk staying in one place for too long. We need to get you somewhere safe."
"Safe?" I snort, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Does that even exist for me anymore?"
He shoots me a look, his amber eyes flashing with something like anger. "Don't say that. We'll figure this out. We always do."
I want to believe him, but the doubt gnaws at me, a relentless ache in my chest. The Syndicate is relentless, and the diamond in my chest is a target I can't remove. I'm tired of running, tired of hiding. But what choice do I have?
We turn a corner, and I freeze. Ahead of us, blocking the alley, stands the man from table seven. His sharp features are illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby streetlamp, his eyes cold and calculating. Behind him, more figures emerge from the shadows, their faces hidden but their intent clear.
My heart stops. They're here.