~LENORA'S POV
I gave a final tug at the hem of my mini black gown, smoothing the fabric down my thighs. The silky material clung easily, like it had been made for my body, and I told myself that was the point. The dress was a choice, it was intentional, confident, a little dangerous. It showed just enough to feel daring without crossing into ridiculous.
At least, that had been the plan.
A sliver of pale skin peeked from the neckline, catching the light when I shifted. I adjusted the fitted bodice once more, then stilled, my hands lingering longer than necessary. Excitement fluttered low in my chest, familiar and welcome.
But it wasn't alone.
There was something else beneath it. A quiet tension I hadn't been able to shake since earlier this afternoon. Not fear. Not exactly. Just a sense of being… slightly off, like my thoughts weren't lining up the way they normally did.
I pushed it aside.
My nails, painted a deep glossy black, tapped against the fabric as I studied my reflection. Knee-length boots added a bit of height, the leather creaking softly when I shifted my weight. The devil horns perched on my head completed the look, playful, ironic, nothing serious.
Still, my gaze lingered on them longer than it should have.
For a brief moment, my reflection felt delayed. Not wrong. Just slow enough to make me frown. I tilted my head, and the image followed a fraction of a second later.
I laughed quietly under my breath and looked away.
Skye, dressed as Harley Quinn, let out a low whistle. "Girl, you look fierce!" she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the din of our room.
"Thanks," I said, meaning it.
We left the dorm together, the hallway buzzing faintly with distant music. As we walked, I caught myself glancing at the reflective surfaces we passed, the window at the end of the hall, the polished floor near the stairs and each time, I saw only myself.
Still, my shoulders didn't quite relax.
The party hit us all at once.
The party was bigger and more budget-friendly than last year's, it seemed. The decorations had taken on a life of their own, transforming the drab college hall into a twisted fantasy world.
It felt louder than last year. More crowded.
More alive.
People moved around us in costumes, masks obscuring familiar faces, and elaborate makeup turned the crowd into something almost... unreal. Everything blurred together, devils and angels, villains and monsters, silhouettes layered over one another until individuality dissolved.
But even as the chaos and color washed over me, I felt it, a flicker of unease beneath the excitement, like a shadow slipping across the edge of my vision.
I felt eyes on me that weren't part the crowd.
I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
Then I spotted Jason, his Joker costume bold in the crowd. His eyes locked onto mine, and a slow smile spread across his face as he made his way toward me.
Without a word, he reached out and pulled me into a kiss, his lips demanding and insistent. The music and laughter faded into the background as I melted into the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair, and the world narrowed down to just the two of us, the only sound that I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my chest.
When he finally broke the kiss, his eyes were on mine, but for some reason I couldn't help but to feel I had just done something inappropriate. It wasn't the first time I'd feel this way, but tonight's sensation was different - close.
"Happy birthday, babe." He whispered against my lips.
I danced with him, the pulsating beat thrumming through my veins, lights flashing kaleidoscopes across the sweaty crowd. Perfume, cologne, and the sweet tang of spilled drinks mingled in the air.
But then, I lost him in the crowd. Skye was nowhere to be found too. The party that had felt alive now pressed in like a living thing, overwhelming, and isolating.
It reminded me of the silence in my dorm earlier today and the shadows I didn't know if I was actually seeing or my mind was imagining.
I needed a drink.
I pushed through the crowd toward the bar, bodies pressing in reluctantly before parting. The bartender, dressed as a warlock, raised an eyebrow when I ordered a vodka cranberry, then turned away without comment.
As I waited, that feeling returned.
Not fear.
Awareness.
Like pressure building just behind my thoughts.
I scanned the crowd, my eyes searching for any sign of who might be watching me, but everyone was too caught up in their own little worlds to pay me any mind. Still, the feeling persisted, growing stronger with every passing moment.
I told myself it was nothing. Crowds did this. Noise did this. Lack of sleep did this. Still, my skin prickled, a slow crawl tracing the back of my neck.
The drink arrived, cold against my palm. I took a sip, hoping the burn would ground me.
It didn't.
The sensation intensified instead, focused now, deliberate. The hair on my arms stood on end.
Then warmth brushed my back.
Not a touch.
Just closeness.
I told myself not to turn.
I did anyway.
He stood there, taller than the surrounding crowd, broad-shouldered and completely still. It struck me immediately how little he moved compared to everyone else, like motion was optional for him.
His eyes found mine without hesitation.
He emerged from the sea of bodies, tall and impossibly poised, eyes black as a bottomless pit. My stomach dropped, my legs threatening to give way. The air around him seemed to thrum, charged. I wanted to move closer, but my skin prickled with fear as much as fascination.
He wore just black, compared to the rest of the room. His shirt clung to his frame, the open buttons revealing a glimpse of skin that felt distracting in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. I tried to catalogue details, a grounding habit.
Black pants hugging his thighs, but it clung to a frame that seemed sculpted rather than real. The demon horns atop his head were flawless, like a shadow had been given form. His hair, a stormy wine-red, fell carelessly, perfectly messy.
The longer I looked at his face, the harder it became to place him. He was handsome, undeniably, but not in a way that invited familiarity. His features were too precise, his expression too composed.
It felt like he was watching me react.
I was holding myself back, my fingers curled into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch his demon horns, which seemed to sprout from his temples like an arched sinuous branch. The person who had applied his makeup had done a fantastic job - the horns looked almost...real. I wondered how they had managed to attach them so seamlessly to his skin.
The thought arrived quietly, without panic. Just an observation. Like noticing something slightly out of place and not knowing why it bothered you.
I smiled, hoping it passed for normal.
"Your costume," I said. "It's… convincing."
As I spoke, his expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded me with an amused, almost... predatory interest.
He laughed softly, low and resonant, the sound settling somewhere beneath my ribs.
"Zephyr."
The name didn't echo.
It sank.
I felt it register before I understood why, a subtle sense of alignment clicked into place, Like something that had been hovering just out of reach had finally settled.
We stood there for a moment, neither of us speaking.
The party surged on around us. Someone bumped my shoulder and apologized. Laughter burst too loudly nearby. Life continued, careless and bright.
But the pressure I'd been carrying since this afternoon, the heaviness, the sense of being watched didn't fade.
It narrowed.
Centered on him.
On me.
My fingers tightened around my drink as a thought surfaced, uninvited and unwelcome:
I wasn't sure anymore whether I had noticed him first—
or if he had been waiting for me to turn around.