E L L E

Morning light cuts across my room when I jerk awake, breathless, the dream still clinging to me like frost. I come up gasping, like someone yanked me out of water. The room is dark, too quiet, except for my breathing, fast, uneven, like I ran somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go. My lips feel… wrong. Warm. Sensitive. Like I actually kissed someone. No, like I kissed him. My hand flies to my mouth.

Ashriel.

His name hits me so hard my stomach twists. The dream, the ballroom that wasn’t real, fractured lanterns, the frost crawling across the marble, his fingers on my cheek, the way he kissed me like he was made for that one moment. I shouldn’t remember this well. Dreams aren’t supposed to cling like this. They aren’t supposed to burn.

And the worst part isn’t the kiss. It’s how I leaned into it. How my whole body wanted it. The whisper rings through me again, low and cold:

Choose.

I squeeze my eyes shut until they ache. God. What is happening to me? The room doesn’t feel normal. The air is thick, cold, like winter spilled in under the door. My next breath mists out white. The hum under the floorboards starts faint, then pulses deeper, like it has a heartbeat. I know that sound too well: the node waking up again. Watching me. Listening to me. Knowing exactly what I dreamed.

“Stop,” I whisper, like a kid hiding under a blanket. The humming doesn’t stop. It deepens. I stand, but the floorboards are freezing under my feet, like they’re holding frost. And they are, thin spirals of it curl along my dresser’s edge. I reach out, touch it. The cold snaps up my fingertips, sharp and immediate.

This isn’t a dream residue. This is the Rift reacting. To me. To that kiss. To that choice I didn’t mean to make. Or didn’t stop myself from making it.

I get ready in this weird fog of guilt and panic. Everything feels too tight, too loud, too delicate. My fingers keep shaking when I try to fasten the clasp behind my neck. It takes three tries. The dress is beautiful, navy, soft, glittering in a way that feels painfully normal. Normal, which I’m not anymore.

I tell myself the same thing over and over: Tonight is supposed to be simple. A night with Luke. Warm. Safe. Real. I should be excited. I should be steady. I should feel something other than this spiraling mess.

But the second I think Luke, the mirror fogs over like someone breathed against it. I swallow hard. My throat feels bruised from holding everything in. 

The hours slip by without me noticing. Daylight turns soft, then gold, then begins to fade. By the time the lanterns outside my window flicker on, glowing against the early evening, my pulse still hasn’t settled. I’m dressed, but I don’t feel ready. Not even close.

 A knock taps on my door—Luke’s knock. Gentle. Uncertain. He never wants to intrude. I open the door, and he’s standing there in a suit that fits him stupidly well, hair pushed back, cheeks a little pink like he jogged over. He smiles when he sees me, warm and relieved and a little nervous.

“Wow,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Elle… you look seriously beautiful.” His voice is a blanket around my shoulders. I want to fall into it. Pretend nothing happened. Pretend last night wasn’t real.

“Thanks,” I whisper. He reaches for my hand. Just that. And the moment our fingers touch, cold tingles up my spine. Behind me, frost spiders across my doorframe. Thin, silver, delicate. Luke doesn’t notice. He’s too busy giving my hand a gentle squeeze like he’s trying to hold me steady. I wish it worked. I wish I could fit into the warm shape of his world tonight.

We walk toward town together, lanterns glowing overhead, the music drifting from the square, bright and messy and full of life. It should be comforting. It isn’t. Everything feels slightly off, like the air is vibrating.

Luke talks, babbling in that sweet nervous way he gets when he’s excited. Stories about Juniper losing her keys in the sink, how he nearly ripped his suit pants climbing out of his window, dumb things that should make me laugh.

I try. But it feels like my reactions are on delay, like someone dipped me in cold syrup and everything is moving too slowly. A sharp, icy draft cuts through the trees. I look toward the woods. Something moves there, pale, still, wrong. My breath stalls.

Luke glances where I’m looking. “Hey. Are you good?”

“Just tired,” I lied.

We keep walking. But the cold keeps getting worse, little pinpricks on my skin. And under it all, the hum, steady, insistent building like pressure before a storm. We reach the square. Everything is lit up, streamers, lanterns, the moon hanging huge and gold over the rooftops. Students crowd the entrance, a glittering wave of masks and music and perfume.

Luke’s hand is still in mine. But the second we step closer, eyes flick toward us. People whisper. Maribel stands by the check-in table with her friends, fanning herself with a glittered mask. She gives me a slow, deliberate once-over.

“Cute,” she says, loud enough that everyone nearby hears. “Ravenshade’s little love triangle arrives.” Luke stiffens. I look at the ground.

Inside the hall, the decorations are a little tacky in a sweet way, paper moons, fairy lights, a DJ setup blasting pop remixes. For a moment, Luke seems to relax. He tugs me toward the drinks table, rambling about cupcakes.

I try to step into that warmth. I try so hard to be the version of me who came here for him, only him.

Luke reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Talk to me,” he says softly. “You okay?”

“I’m with you,” I say. And I mean it. He smiles that small, soft smile that feels like being held. He leans in, just enough that our foreheads almost touch. I don’t pull away. I lean in too. I want this. I want him. I want to choose him so badly it almost hurts.

And the moment that decision clicks into place inside me—really forms— The hum slams through me like a wave. My breath stutters. Frost bursts across the drink table behind us, coating the cups in white. People gasp. Someone mutters, “Are you kidding?”

Luke pulls back, startled. “Elle?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, even though my insides feel cracked open.

I step away, trying to catch my breath, but the music blurs, the lights smear. My pulse is frantic. The dream flickers behind my eyes, his hands, his voice, the mirrors that only showed us.

“Stop,” I whisper. To whom? Myself? The Rift? I don’t know. 

Choose..

The whisper returns, curling in my bones. I look at Luke. His face is full of worry and guilt crushes me. I want to be honest. I want to be whole. I want to be someone who doesn’t break every time she feels something. But the air shifts. Cold sweeps through the hall, sudden and sharp. Students shiver. Lights flicker. The DJ hits the equipment like it’s glitching. My skin goes tight.

I turn toward the entrance without meaning to. And he’s there. Ashriel stands in the open doors, moonlight behind him. He’s in a dark suit, with simple, clean lines. A black mask hides half his face, not ornate, just… him. Effortless and impossible to ignore.

His eyes, those storm-grey, too-knowing eyes find me instantly. My breath stops. Everything inside me stills. And then it rushes back too fast. The hum under the floor spikes, then settles, like it recognizes him. Like I do.

He doesn’t move. He just watches me. Luke’s hand slips out of mine. My heart drops into my stomach. Because the dream wasn’t just a dream. Because the Rift is reacting like it’s been waiting for this. Because Ashriel came even after he told himself he wouldn’t. He steps forward into the light. The whole room tilts toward him. And I can’t look away.