I don’t answer.
He laughs, claps me on the shoulder, and turns to schmooze a politician I wouldn’t mind cutting in half.
She’s still standing there.
I glance at her again—just once, quick. She hasn’t blinked. But now her eyes are narrowed. Like she’s trying to read my face the same way I’ve been reading hers.
No one looks at me like that. Not here.
Not with challenge.
I rise from my seat and walk away. I don’t owe anyone my patience, and certainly not my attention. I need space. Distance. Clarity.
But I don’t make it far.
Her voice stops me.
“Is that it?” she says, loud enough for only me to hear. “You’re just gonna walk off after the grand unveiling?”
I turn slow.
She hasn’t moved. Still wrapped in silver and fire and bad decisions.
“You expected what?” I say. “Applause?”
“I expected something,” she replies, voice low and sharp. “You’re supposed to be dangerous. Right now, you just look... bored.”
I walk back to her, slowly, one deliberate step at a time. The party noise dulls around us, like the whole room is holding its breath.
“I am dangerous,” I say quietly. “You just haven’t given me a reason yet.”
Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
I study her. She doesn’t lower her gaze. Doesn’t flinch. It’s not bravado. It’s something else—something layered in pain and polish, survival disguised as sass.
“You think this is a game?” I murmur.
“I think this is a cage,” she says. “And I think you don’t know what to do with a woman who rattles the bars.”
That lands.
She steps closer, just a hair. I feel her heat like a weapon.
“You always talk this much?” I ask.
“Only when I’m trying to piss someone off.”
“It’s working.”
She finally smiles. Not sweet. Not polite. A little feral.
“Then I’m doing something right.”
Gods help me, I laugh.
It’s low, quick. The first real sound I’ve made in hours that didn’t involve blood or threats.
I step back.
