Page 5 of Hero After Midnight (Gibson Hollow)

Alia

T he apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV from the living room where Bodie and Ramsey were watching some sitcom rerun.

The noise of the laugh tracks barely registered as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the dress hanging from a hook on the closet door.

The purple shimmer caught the soft light filtering in from the window, the fabric looking every bit as powerful and elegant as the day I’d tried it on.

It was the kind of dress that demanded attention without trying.

Bold lines. Clean structure. And absolutely unlike anything I’d ever tried to wear.

I had no idea why I’d bought it, really.

But it had felt important, so I’d worked for it.

Extra shifts at the firm. Weekends I couldn’t afford to lose, doing coffee runs and redlines just to squirrel away enough for something that would make me feel…

different. Something I’d picked for me. Not to impress anyone else. Not even Jeff.

But now, looking at it made my stomach knot.

The mask sat on my desk beside it, resting in the open velvet box Uncle Dee had mailed it in with three layers of tissue paper and a note that said, “You’re gonna turn heads, baby girl.

Go give ’em whiplash.” Metallic purple and black feathers arched like wings around the edges, the detailing delicate but dramatic—almost regal.

It was beautiful. Powerful. Made with love.

And now it was just another thing Jeff had ruined.

I swallowed hard and looked away. He hadn’t even taken the moment from me directly.

He’d tainted it by association, made it feel pointless.

Like I’d been dressing up for a fantasy that no longer existed.

I didn’t want to walk into that masquerade party, pretending like I wasn’t nursing the bruises to my pride.

I could go out to the living room and try to lose myself in whatever the boys were watching.

But I wasn’t feeling amused, and I wasn’t ready to actually face Ramsey.

I hadn’t seen him in more than passing since the night he’d walked me home.

Hadn’t given him back his hoodie. I was working on admitting to myself that I didn’t intend to unless he asked for it directly.

What did it say that I was keeping my brother’s best friend’s sweatshirt as a piece of emotional support clothing?

Nothing I wanted to talk to my brother about, so that same hoodie was hidden in the corner of my closet, where Bodie wouldn’t see. And if he somehow found it, I’d claim it was one of his that I’d stolen.

The front door slammed open with all the subtlety of a Broadway entrance.

“I’m just saying,” Blair’s voice rang down the hall, loud and unapologetic, “your door was unlocked, which felt like an invitation to save your life.”

Startled, I blinked and sat up straighter.

“Hey, boys!” she called toward the living room. “Try not to miss me too much while I go rescue your favorite girl from the brink.”

A muffled reply from Bodie, something sarcastic but good-natured, followed. I didn’t catch Ramsey’s voice, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t straining for it.

The sounds of rustling bags and ice clinking in plastic cups followed. There was no mistaking the trademark chaos energy of Blair in full dramatic flight.

“I also come bearing caffeine.” Her voice carried as she dropped something onto the kitchen counter with a theatrical thunk.

I scrubbed a hand over my eyes and rose slowly, padding barefoot down the hall.

As I stepped into the kitchen, my gaze flicked toward the living room beyond.

I caught the barest glimpse of Ramsey reclined on the couch, profile sharp in the blue glow of the television.

Only a flicker of him before I made myself look away.

Blair stood at the counter like some caffeine-fueled avenging angel, her enormous sunglasses still on despite being indoors, one hand on her hip, the other holding out a cup like she was bestowing a blessing.

She eyed me up and down. “I brought a bag of emotionally supportive bullshit you’re absolutely going to let me use on your face.”

Despite myself, a breath of laughter escaped me, a single exhale that felt lighter than anything I’d let out all day. Blair had a gift for cutting through the fog. For showing up at exactly the right moment and being too loud, too much, and somehow exactly what I needed.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Clearly.” She pressed the cup into my hands. “And clearly, you needed it.”

She turned back to her canvas tote, pulling out something wrapped in silk and something else that crinkled like a makeup pouch full of secrets. I didn’t ask what any of it was. I simply stood there, holding iced coffee, watching her commandeer my kitchen like she lived here.

And in that moment—with my heart still scraped raw and my mind a mess—I was so overwhelmed with love for her I almost couldn’t speak. She didn’t knock. Didn’t ask. She showed up. Like she’d known I needed her before I did.

“Blair.” My voice was low and wobbly.

She paused, looked up, and for a moment dropped the performance. “I got you. Now, let’s go resurrect your sparkle.”

Blair ushered me down the hall to my room.

Her sunglasses were finally off, shoved into her thick mass of blonde hair.

Her gaze swept the space, taking in the dress still hanging on the closet door and the open velvet box on my desk.

Her eyes landed on the mask. She stepped toward it, reverent, as if she’d found some ancient artifact.

She picked it up, turning it gently in her hands, brushing her thumb over the delicate filigree and plum-feather accents.

“Your Uncle Dee absolutely outdid himself. That man has such a gift with costuming and design. I really must get him to teach me all his secrets.”

The way she said it made my throat ache. Like the thing still mattered. Like the magic was still there, waiting for me to claim it.

“It doesn’t matter.” I collapsed back onto the edge of my bed. “I’m not going.”

She turned to face me with a single brow raised and a glint in her eye that should’ve been a warning. “Like hell you’re not.”

I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, gaze falling to the stretch of carpet between us. “I don’t have the energy for that right now.”

“Then borrow mine.”

I huffed out something halfway between a scoff and a sigh.

Blair toed off her boots and shed her jacket, tossing it over the back of my desk chair like she was clocking in. She didn’t wait for an invitation—just climbed up onto my bed and sat cross-legged beside me, fixing me with the kind of look that didn’t leave room for bullshit.

She let the silence hang for a moment before she cut through it with surgical precision. “So, what’s the real reason?”

I knew she wouldn’t let it go. Not with the mask still in her lap and her eyes sharper than they had any right to be for someone who wore glitter eyeliner before noon.

I shifted, my hands curling around my sweating cup. “I don’t have a date.”

Blair scoffed. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard you try to sell me. Try again.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re avoiding.” She arched one brow and gave me the Look—the one that said she’d wait all day and drag every truth out of me like a dentist with a stubborn molar.

“You’re going to tell me the truth, sweet cheeks, or I’m going to start reading your Google search history aloud, and I know for a fact you looked up ‘how to sue the universe’ last week. ”

A reluctant laugh slipped out of me. It tasted like defeat and relief. “Fine.” I leaned back against the headboard. “It’s not about Jeff. Not really.”

Blair stayed quiet, shifting to mirror me, her knees up, attention laser focused.

“I was so excited about that dress. For the masquerade.” My voice went soft. “Not because of him. It wasn’t about being one half of a cute couple or anything. I just… wanted to feel like someone.”

Blair tilted her head. “You are someone.”

“I know. But this—” I nodded toward the dress, still gleaming like temptation on my closet door. “This was supposed to be the first time I let myself really… take up space.”

Her gaze softened. “Yeah, you don’t do that. And girl, you should. ”

That wasn’t something I was comfortable with. I’d spent my whole life tucked into the margins—Bodie’s quiet sister, the serious one, the responsible one. The girl who didn’t take risks. Who didn’t want to be watched. Who stayed two steps ahead of the curve because anything less felt like failure.

I preferred the sidelines and shadows. But for one night, it had felt… safe to want to be seen. Probably because of the mask. Why that gorgeous confection of sparkles and feathers felt like permission, I didn’t know. But it did.

Or it had.

“But now the whole thing feels stupid,” I whispered. “Like I was playing dress-up. Like I thought I could be that kind of girl for one night, and the universe reminded me—loudly—that I’m not.”

Blair reached across the space between us and took my hand.

“You don’t need Jeff. You don’t need anyone.

You need to shine. You wanted that moment because you were ready to claim it.

You still are. He doesn’t get to take that from you.

You don’t need a date. Go as a goddess of vengeance. Let people worship you.”

I snorted at the absurdity of the notion. “I don’t think I have the energy to be worshipped.”

Blair pointed to the dress. “You had the energy when you bought that.”

I looked at the dress again, the way the fabric shimmered, unapologetic and powerful, and I felt the pinch of longing behind my breastbone. “But it doesn’t feel the same.”

“No,” she agreed. “It feels better. Because now? Now it’s not about him. It never should’ve been. This is your resurrection, babe.”

The words landed like a chord I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear.

Not a battle cry, but a benediction. I’d never walked into a room and felt beautiful.

Not once in my life. I knew how to be smart, how to be prepared, how to win approval with a sharp retort or a solid résumé. I knew how to be impressive.

But I’d never known how to be seen.

“I don’t want to do this to prove anything to him,” I said finally, voice tight.

“Good.” Blair’s hand squeezed mine. “Then don’t. Do it to prove something to yourself.”

The silence that followed was thick and full and strangely calm. No pressure. No agenda. Just that glimmer of possibility that hadn’t entirely gone out yet.

My fingers flexed around the cup. “Okay.”

Blair’s answering grin lit up the entire room like someone had flipped a switch. “There she is.”

She popped up off the bed like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“We’ve got lashes to prep, magic to conjure, and at least one goddess to resurrect.

” She placed the mask back in its velvet box like it was a royal crown and grabbed the dress from the closet hook with a reverence that almost made me laugh.

“Come on. We have two days to perfect this look. We’re going back to my place. Better lighting, better mirror, and the glitter selection of your dreams.”