A D R I A N

“Elara!” Her name cracks through the noise so sharply she jolts like someone yanked a wire out of her spine. I don’t let go of her wrist. I can feel her trying to pull back, instinct or fear or just exhaustion, I don’t know, but I tighten my grip just enough to say:
Not yet. Don’t disappear on me. Not now.

Through the shifting bodies, Asha bursts into view, breathless, the med-tent badge bouncing against her chest. “Elara, there’s a problem at the tent. I didn’t know where you were, I..oh.” Her eyes land on our hands, then flick to the crowd, then to the cameras already tilting toward us. Shit. Elara stiffens, guilt or dread or both sliding across her features.

“I need her for one minute,” I say. It comes out rougher than I mean. Or maybe exactly as rough as I feel. Asha hesitates, caught between duty and understanding something she doesn’t want to witness. “One minute,” she says softly. She melts back into the crowd. I feel Elara inhale sharply beside me. She won’t look at me, and that, God, hits harder than the rumors.

Before I can say anything, the announcer’s voice rips through the air:
“Lantern Tide begins—now!”

The festival roars to life. Drums thunder, low and primal. Lanterns ignite along the ramp, glowing gold like a river of captive stars. Dancers in white flow down the boardwalk in long ribbons. The crowd shifts as one, pushing forward, bodies packed tight enough that I can feel every breath around us.

The tide moves us whether we want it or not. Elara bumps into me, caught by the push of the crowd. Her shoulder brushes mine; she steadies herself with a sharp breath.

“Adrian,” she shouts over the music, her voice cracking through the chaos, “listen to me..”

“I’m trying.” And I am. God, I am. She doesn’t know what the last hour felt like, the speech, the rumors, the crowd turning into a beast with a thousand eyes.

“The authorization..” she starts.

My heart spikes. “What about it?” She leans in, close enough that her breath hits the edge of my jaw. “It’s not yours.” And for a second my body forgets how to function.

“What?”

“The signature. The pressure marks. The metadata. Adrian, someone forged it.” The world stutters. Not stops—stutters. Like a skipped heartbeat that leaves the entire universe a half-step off.

“Elara…” My voice breaks. Actually breaks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flash with something like regret. Or fear. Or both. “I shouldn’t have waited. I just… I needed to be sure. And there’s more..”

The drums explode again, drowning her words in a wave of sound so deep it rattles my ribs. People yell, cheer, chant. The ramp brightens. The island tilts around us. And then the announcer shouts:

“Participants for the Blessing Walk, step forward!”

A hundred people surge toward the ramp. Elara tries to back away. Not from me but from the exposure. The cameras. The danger. But my hand moves before my brain catches up. I reach for her. I take her hand. Not gently. Not timidly. Not pretending it’s anything else. I take it like a man refusing to drown. Her breath catches, a tiny sound swallowed by music and surf.

“Adrian..” she whispers, her eyes huge in the lantern light.

“Stand with me,” I say, stepping closer, my forehead almost touching hers. “Right now.” For a second she closes her eyes, like she’s checking if she’s allowed to want this. Then her fingers slowly curl back into mine. And that’s it.  That tiny movement.  The whole goddamn island shifts. The crowd erupts in gasps. The music swells. Someone screams something about a photo. More lanterns take to the air, glowing like floating witnesses.

Kai materializes next to us, jaw locked, eyes snapping between our hands and the cameras. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but he steps closer, subtly blocking the nearest lens. “You better know what you’re doing, brother.”

Selene slides to Elara’s side with soft, frantic eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need to leave? Sweetheart, say something.” Elara can’t. She’s staring at the ramp ahead like she’s about to step into fire. Lucien appears next, silent, unnervingly calm. He doesn’t speak at first. Just takes in the lanterns, the crowd, the cameras, the exact timing of all of it.

Then, to me, low and razor-sharp:
“This was orchestrated.” I know. I can feel it like a bruise under my ribs. Someone wanted me destabilized tonight. And they’re getting their show. But I’m done being a marionette.

I tug Elara forward. “Walk with me.” She hesitates. Only a heartbeat. Then she nods and follows. The ramp glows under our feet as we step onto it. The Blessing Walk. The most romantic, symbolic part of the festival. Lovers. Partners. Chosen companions.

Hand in hand. And right now thousands of eyes and half the world’s screens are watching me walk it with her. The drones descend immediately.  Cameras flare white-hot.  Reporters surge like a wave breaking.

“Adrian, are you confirming a relationship with Dr. Quinn?!”

“Doctor Quinn, were you involved in the internal transfer scandal?!”

“Did Adrian forge the authorization to protect you?!”

“Is this why the clinic budget doubled..”

“Are you stepping down as heir..”

“Elara, look here— look here—”

The air combusts around us. Kai shoves a cameraman back. “Enough, back the hell up!” Selene grabs Elara’s elbow, trying to shield her. Lucien curses under his breath, which he never does. “This is an ambush.”

Elara squeezes my hand. Not hard. Not desperate. Just once.  A pulse of fear. And trust. And something I don’t deserve. I squeeze back. Her eyes whip to mine, shining, scared, furious, all of it tangled together.  The lights explode again—

“Elara!”  Someone shouts her name behind us. The crowd turns. I turn. Elara stiffens beside me, fingers going cold in mine. And the island erupts around us.