Page 174

Silas shifts next to me, that signature twitch of energy rippling under his skin like he’s got more thoughts than bones andthey’re all fighting to get out first. He leans in, breath brushing my ear like a whisper meant to be misunderstood on purpose.
“Okay, so,” he says, voice pitched low but not nearly subtle enough for the stakes we’re sitting in. “Dead center, third row—two seats from the aisle. That’s Moriah Estelle. Illusion magic, bad attitude, sharper heels than morals. She once made her ex think he was a tree for three years.”
I blink. “A tree?”
“Yep. Oak. Full bark. No wood jokes, I promise. Elias already tried.”
“Once,” Elias mutters behind me, “and it was brilliant. You just don’t appreciate subtlety.”
“You called him a ‘hardwood tragedy,’” Silas say’s dryly.
“And I stand by it,” he says, lifting his chin like the crown of comedy belongs to him and him alone.
Silas taps my arm again, pointing discreetly with his chin this time. “Left balcony, the guy with the eyes too close together and the too-perfect beard? That’s Caldrin Roque. High enchantment, low charm. Thinks he’s a kingmaker. Tried to have me hexed in second year.”
“Did it work?”
Silas grins like the question offends him. “Please. He woke up with permanent glitter in his bloodstream. Bled sparkle forweeks.”
Elias shifts forward just slightly, voice closer now, warmer. “The couple with matching robes and no concept of personal space? Crowsmoor twins. They run a collective in the Hollow’s outer rim. They’re not dangerous unless you insult their aesthetic. Which Silas did.”
“It was beige,” Silas defends, “with fringe.They deserved it.”
Behind us, Riven exhales hard, a sharp sound through his nose that could be a sigh or a threat. I don’t turn to look—I can feel him there. Close. Watching.
Ambrose is silent at my other side, his presence like a blade sheathed but not forgotten. But it’s the chaos crew—Silas and Elias—who fill the space with noise, like their banter is armor, like if they’re laughing loud enough, the weight of the Council can’t pin us to the floor.
Elias leans in, and this time he brushes my shoulder, just enough to make my breath stutter. He doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does and pretends not to. He murmurs, “So… what’s the over-under on one of these creeps trying to seduce you by intermission?”
I glance at him over my shoulder, deadpan. “Is that jealousy?”
“Please,” he says. “It’sstatistical dread.If someone starts quoting poetry at you, I’m throwing Silas off the balcony as a distraction.”
“I volunteer as tribute,” Silas chirps.
And I laugh.
God help me—I laugh, right here in this nest of watching eyes and sharpened motives. Because for a second, I forget that we’re the ones being hunted. For a second, I’m just the girl pressed between chaos and snark, between too much magic and not enough time, held up by boys who’d burn the world just to keep me smiling.
And I’ll let them.
For now.
The lights dim once more.
And the stage begins to breathe.
Silas
“I can lip read,” I whisper to Luna like it’s a confession and a superpower all wrapped in glitter paper.
She gives me a look.
One brow lifted, lips twitching like she’s deciding whether to indulge me or kick me off the balcony. Honestly, I’ll take either. The dress she’s in is making itveryhard to focus on anything else—especially when she’s this close, the scent of her skin this sharp in my lungs. She smells like dark things I’d gladly fall into. Like her.
“Youcannotlip read,” Elias cuts in from behind us, but of course he doesn’t stay there. His head appears between us like a ghostly snack trying to wedge itself into the conversation. He’s too close. His breath hits my cheek. “You said a guy was proposing when he was clearly ordering a scone.”
“I stand by that,” I shoot back. “His mouth said ‘blueberry,’ but hiseyessaid forever.”