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In a small ballet company, that was survival.
There was always some fresh-faced prodigy coming up the ranks, some new girl with longer lines and better feet.
You didn’t stay relevant by coasting.
You stayed relevant by showing up, dazzling, and making damn sure your name stuck in the right people’s heads.
And while nobody said it out loud, we all knew: One wrong move, one poorly timed injury, one slip in the wrong donor’s eye, and you could be out by fall.
Still.
None of that meant I planned to spend my days acting like I was ninety and breakable.
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” I said, twirling a piece of hair around my finger. “Which is why I’m asking—what are we doing after rehearsal today?”
Both of them froze.
“Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Marisol said slowly.
“I was thinking,” I said innocently, “that we could go do something fun. Paddleboarding in Shem Creek? Jet skiing off Isle of Palms? Maybe find a sketchy place that’ll let us parasail without signing too many waivers?”
Lena dropped her face into her hands. “You need help.”
“Serious help,” Marisol agreed.
They exchanged a look—the same look they gave each other when one of Madame Odette’s lectures got especially unhinged.
“We love you, Vivi,” Lena said firmly, “but we actually want to have ballet careers.”
“Yeah,” Marisol added. “Preferably with all our limbs still attached.”
I pouted. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“We left it in preschool,” Lena said dryly. “Right around the time we realized broken ankles don’t look good in a tutu.”
I sighed dramatically, slumping in my chair.
“Fine. Jessa it is.”
“Jessa’s just as crazy as you,” Marisol muttered under her breath.
“Exactly.” I grinned. “She understands me.”
Teresa snorted from behind her coffee mug.
“God, help us all,” she said.
I smiled wider, feeling a familiar itch under my skin—the need to move, to leap, to fall.
Tonight, after rehearsal, I’d find something wild enough to scratch it.
And maybe—if fate was feeling generous—I'd find a certain Viking hacker still brooding around the edges of my world. Just close enough to catch. Or to catch me.
Either way, I wasn’t planning on playing it safe.
Not now.
Not ever.