The dust hung thick in the air, floating under the warm party lights like a cloud of powdered chalk.
Skye immediately dropped to her knees, coughing into her elbow before clapping both hands over her face.
"Ow—fuck! My eyes!" She let out a high-pitched whine, thrashing her head side to side.
"It got in my eyes! It hurts! I think a piece cut my face—Chase! Chase!"
Lester stood frozen, his throat dry, his hand reflexively clamping down on the cold metal body of Robert hanging against his chest.
Panic clawed at his throat. I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't have come.
I just wanted to take one photo
A passing thought flickered through his dazed mind—a blurry image of the anonymous person Skye had just violently shoved aside, stumbling and crashing directly into his shoulder—before the sheer weight of the disaster swallowed him whole.
Before he could even process the chaos, the crowd parted.
Chase pushed his way through, his easy smile completely gone.
His gaze swept from the ruined statue to Skye groaning on the floor, and finally to Lester.
Oh god, Lester thought, his knees trembling beneath him.
He's going to kill me. He actually wants to kill me.
In a single, fluid motion, Chase closed the distance.
His hand shot out, wrapping tightly around the collar of Lester's black polo.
With terrifying ease, he lifted Lester slightly off his feet and slammed him back against the wall.
The breath burst out of Lester's lungs. Robert bounced hard against his sternum, the heavy lens biting through his shirt.
His glasses jolted sideways on his nose as Chase's golden-boy face leaned in, inches away, eyes dark with quiet rage.
"Who the hell are you?" Chase hissed through gritted teeth.
Lester's hands hovered helplessly, one of them shielding Robert out of pure instinct.
"S-Sorry," Lester choked out, his voice a pathetic, strained croak that barely cut through the thumping bass. "I... I didn't mean—Skye... she pushed someone into me—"
Chase didn't let him finish.
He snapped his head toward the floor, his glare shifting instantly to the girl huddled against the wreckage.
"Skye," Chase demanded, his voice sharp and biting. "Is that true? Did you shove someone?"
Skye lowered her hands just enough to look up, her face twisting into an immediate, wounded expression of utter disbelief.
"What? No! Are you insane?" Skye snapped back, her voice ringing clear and indignant over the music. "I was standing right here!
He's just making stuff up because he's a freak who can't watch where he's going!"
Around them, screen lights flickered to life. Several people pulled out their phones, angling the cameras toward the wall to catch the drama.
Chase's eyes flicked to the glowing screens, catching the reflection of the lenses. His jaw clenched once.
Twice.
Then, the dangerous tension in his arm vanished.
He released Lester's collar, smoothing out the crushed fabric of the polo with two fake, reassuring pats to Lester's chest.
Chase turned around, throwing his arms out wide, his charming, effortless smile instantly back in place.
"Hey, hey, everyone! We're good!" Chase called out, his voice easily carrying over the bass. "Just a minor accident!
Statue was hideous anyway!"
A wave of nervous laughter broke through the crowd.
"Keep the music going! Drink up!" Chase shouted, clapping his hands.
The crowd cheered, the bass thundered back to life, and people immediately went back to dancing, drinking, and moving around them. The brief drama was already forgotten.
Chase turned back to Lester, his voice dropping to a low, cold whisper that only Lester could hear.
"Clean this shit up," Chase said, reaching behind a nearby doorway and pulling out an old straw broom, shoving it hard against Lester's chest.
"And don't even think about sneaking out after the party. You and I are going to settle this. With my father."
Chase didn't wait for an answer.
He turned on his heel, stepping over the white rubble to crouch beside Skye, putting a comforting arm around her waist.
Skye whimpered, leaning into Chase's side with her hands still covering her eyes.
Lester stood there, suffocating under a wave of self-loathing.
Her groans of pain echoed in his head, convincing him entirely that he was a monster who had just blinded a girl.
Look at what you did, his mind hissed. You're a disease. You touch things and they break.
As Chase pulled her up, the fingers covering her face parted just enough for her to peek out. Her gaze landed on Lester, standing alone with the broom.
Then her eyes moved up to his face. A dark, steady line of blood was trailing down his forehead, running over his cheekbone, and dripping off his jawline.
Skye's hands slowly dropped an inch.
The dramatic whine died in her throat.
Her lips parted, her stomach tightening as she stared at the bright red spot pooling on his collar.
Through the gap in her fingers, her eyes locked with his—a pale, sudden flash of raw guilt breaking through her mask before she quickly pulled away.
Lester blinked, dazed. Did I... imagine that? No. I'm just trying to make excuses for myself.
Click-clack.
The sharp, mechanical snap of the shutter echoed against his chest.
Lester flinched, looking down in complete shock.
His hands had operated on pure instinct, muscle memory raising Robert and firing the shot before his brain even caught up.
He glanced down at the small glass viewfinder preview on the top casing, where the quick exposure settled.
In crisp, undeniable detail, the frame caught her mid-peek.
There were no tears in her eyes.
No cut on her face. Her expression wasn't one of pain—it was the sharp, calculated gaze of someone playing a role, caught red-handed in a momentary slip of guilt.
The crushing guilt in Lester's chest instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.
He hadn't blinded her. She hadn't even been hit. It was all an act.
A performance for the room.
"Fake..." he muttered under his breath, his voice turning ice-cold as he looked up from the camera.
"So I was just imagining it, Robert? he thought, his grip tightening around the camera body. This all happened because of her.
He reached up with a steady hand to straighten his round glasses, his fingers brushing the sharp, shallow cut near his hairline where a jagged edge of the plaster had actually caught him.
Another warm drop of blood rolled down his cheek, pooling under his chin and splattering onto the wooden floor right beside the shattered statue.
Lester looked away from Sky.
He didn't wait to see if.