10. Jazz Date

Naia peered up at the ceiling, painted by the city's light sneaking through the curtains hanging over the patio sliding glass door.

It had only been an hour since they'd come inside. She wasn't sure if the amount of time was plenty for a mortal to fall asleep, but she assumed the sleep tonic had worked since Ronin was quiet on the couch.

Because a large bookshelf separated them, she couldn't confirm if he was or not. Though a small portion of her—a portion delightfully unashamed to admit she did in fact care about him—hoped he was. The exhaustion he wore from their journey was palpable.

Naia turned over onto her side and her mind wandered back to the peaceful moment spent with Ronin on his balcony, a time she had no issue lowering her defenses and relaxing. The soft breeze, the gemstones dazzling in the night sky, and all in the presence of a man who sat quietly beside her. It was the type of silence she did not feel the need to fill, an enjoyment she hadn't felt in a long time.

Perhaps she could stay a bit longer?—

You cannot stay here.

She flipped onto her back and stared through the dusky darkness at the ceiling.

Nothing good will come of it if you do.

It was only a matter of time until she was found. The reminder of her reality replaced all the warmth and hope in her veins with ice.

You must find Finnian.

Tactfully, she slipped from the bed and craned her head around the bookshelf to confirm if Ronin was asleep.

One arm dangled off the side of the couch, and the other was strung over his face.

She tip-toed around the shelf and beside the foot of the bed, never taking her eyes off the measured movements of Ronin's chest as he slept.

Her shin rammed into the coffee table. She froze. The leg of the furniture screeched against the hardwood, and her heart lurched in her throat as the muscle in her thigh cramped.

With her pulse thumping wildly, she rotated her head towards Ronin.

Thankfully, he was still asleep.

She let out her breathand continued to the front door.

I will find him. She repeated the mantra to block out the self-doubt creeping over her. Finnian was in the city somewhere. They were closer to each other than they'd been in over a century.

You will not make it five minutes on your own.

Naia's body locked up; her hand constricted around the door handle. A visual of herself lost in the deep, mage-infested alleyways of Hollow City turned over her confidence.

She was infinitesimal in comparison. Finding Finnian was not guaranteed if she went out alone, and with her luck, she'd wander into a situation far more than she could handle.The city was full of mages, and the thought alone of confronting one chilled her bones.

You are useless.

She gritted her teeth as a lump swelled in her throat.

You cannot do anything on your own.

One wrong move and she could end up back at square one. It was best to remain patient and go along with Ronin's plan. Attending the charity event would guarantee her being in the same place as Finnian.

Naia lowered her hand and stood in front of the door, defeat settling through her.

She did not know how to be any better, how to rid herself of the blight growing within her. Its heaviness was too much to carry sometimes, and no matter how much she dreamed of one day being free of it, the image was impossible to see, and even harder to believe in.

Naia feignedsleep when something soft, and mildly heavy, plopped down on her head.

"Rise and shine." Ronin's voice was too groggy with sleep to sound chipper.

She stirred. The pile of what appeared to be clothes slid down into her lap as she sat up.

She squinted her eyes, as if the morning sunlight pouring through his windows burned her corneas. "I was having such a delightful dream. There were baguettes and butter, and you were not there."

"I take it my bed kicked your insomnia then." Ronin disappeared around the bookshelf dividing the room, the sound of his slippers scuffing towards the kitchen.

It took her a second to recall her lie about being an insomniac.

"I hardly got a lick of sleep, thanks to your talking device," she retorted. He'd gotten up twice in the middle of the night to take phone calls out on the balcony. Luckily, this happened after her attempt to leave.

"Yeah, sorry," he said through the loud clanking of countertop doors opening and closing. "There's no rest for those who own a business."

"At three in the morning?" Naia slapped her feet down on the floor. The pile of clothes spilled across the bedspread. She held up a black t-shirt and examined it.

"Sorry about that." He reappeared around the corner of the bookshelf. "I had some old clothes from when I was younger that I figured would fit you a little better."

Naia turned to address him, only for her eyes to cling to the outline of muscles in his biceps twitching as he tied back his hair.

She hated admitting it to herself, but the mortal's hair was attractive. Embarrassing, unappreciated daydreams floated around in her thoughts of running her fingers through what she would bet were soft, slick strands.

Ronin cracked a not-so-subtle smile at her staring. She hurried to casually sweep her gaze over his outfit instead. It was the first time she'd paid attention, but now that she thought about it, his color of choice was consistently black. Loose trousers, fitting around his long legs, and a baggy shirt. His bright turquoise slippers, decorated in unicorns, broke up all the black.

Naia ran her fingers through her long silver hair, grinning down at them. "Akane?"

Ronin wiggled the toes of the slippers, lowering his arms back down to his sides. "Every Christmas. One pair for the house on the island, another for here in my apartment. It's a part of our culture not to wear shoes indoors."

"I know. I've read copious amounts of books, and I came across the information once," Naia said.

She didn't know which gesture was more endearing—Akane making sure he had plenty of slippers, or Ronin wearing the bubbly design without complaint. Regardless, it made her fond of him even more and she hated that.

"Why do you wear pants—black, no less—when the temperature outside is excruciating?"she asked.

"I'm cold-natured, so I am always freezing—even in the dog days of summer. What about you?" His eyes flitted down her legs, shielded by the leggings, where the hem of his oversized shirt met her thighs.

Unsure how to cope with the current of electric coursing underneath her skin from the way he looked at her, she fixated on the overshirt in the pile of clothes on his bed.

She held it up, pretending to admire it. "Hot-natured."

"Not that." He sat down on the bed beside the clothes, lifting his chin to gaze up at her. The brown specks in his eyes reminded her of caramel drizzled on top of melted chocolate. "I mean, what kind of clothes do you like?"

She lowered the overshirt but kept it in her hands for comfort. Something to distract herself with, or to avert her attention to if need be. "Why are you asking?"

"It's my day off, and I figure you need clothes if you are going to be staying with me all week."

She nibbled on her lip for a long moment, avoiding his gaze. "I don't know how to answer your question."

She'd never given much thought to the clothes she wore, other than despising gowns and preferring trousers. In terms of style and color, she had no specific opinion, and the lack of one bugged her.

Ronin tilted his head, the motion carrying some pieces of his hair into his eyes. "What do you like to do?"

She thought about it, only to come to a dead end again. "I don't know."

"What kind of music do you like?"

Her mouth opened, brain stuttering for a response. "Jazz, I suppose."

"What about a favorite color?"

She hesitated, gaze flipping around the room to grab onto as many colors as she could. The gray curtains, the white painted walls, his black pants. She rubbed the olive green overshirt between her index fingertip and thumb. "Green."

Ronin stood from the bed. "Doesn't sound too convincing."

"I was always told what to wear, what to like, how to act." It came out hushed, equally embarrassed as she was ashamed by it. An eight-century-old goddess who did not know such trivial details about herself. Pathetic.

Ronin stared at her for a beat before picking up the folded clothes from the bed and handing them to her. "Then let's spend today figuring out what you like."

The clothing storewas on the opposite side of the city. The same side as his brewery. Or the non-magical side.

The store had floor-to-ceiling glass windows and white racks, shiny frames with floral art, and smelled of sweet spices and orange blossoms.

From the copious outfits she'd tried on, one thing was certain: Naia despised bright, flashy colors. Neutrals attracted her the most. Clothes calm on the eye, yet soft and pleasant on the skin, were a must.

She walked out of the dressing room in a pair of jean shorts and a nude tank-top but kept on Ronin's olive-green overshirt, unwilling to part ways with it yet.

Naia approached Ronin standing at the register with several tunics strung over her arm, knowing if she came out empty-handed, he'd make her continue the tedious task of trying on clothes, how he'd done for the past several hours. Even after she insisted one outfit would be plenty, he refused and threatened to stay in the store all day until she found enough outfits to pacify him.

In the middle of the chatty employee ringing up the articles of clothing, Naia could see Ronin out of the corner of her eye. His attention was steady on her, the boredom in his gaze sharpening into something that surged Naia's bloodstream.

She walked up to the counter, ignoring his staring, and placed the tunics on the pile being rung up. "This is the last of it," she told the employee.

The middle-aged, brunette-haired woman gave a wide smile, full of teeth. "Wonderful choices! Oh, I love this one. We have a matching sweater during the winter season I think would go great with your hair color…"

Ronin took a step closer to Naia, keeping behind her, but off to her side. She swore his fingers brushed the backside of her thigh, but she couldn't tell if she imagined the feeling. Either way, heat dripped in her stomach like a melting ice cube, and she wanted nothing more than to rest her weight back on her heels.

"I'm glad you are still wearing my shirt," Ronin murmured, his voice dangerously close to her ear.

Gooseflesh spread down the back of her neck. She swallowed, in an attempt to focus on another body sensation. Anything but the feeling of his breath grazing her nape.

"It'll be three-oh-seven," the employee said and bagged the rest of the clothes.

Ronin remained unmoving, despite the employee waiting.

Naia slowly rotated her head to glance at him over her shoulder. "She's ready."

His eyes were on her, and he smirked. "I know."

Without another word, he stepped up to the counter.

They parkedon the curb of a bustling street in front of an establishment with a thicket of ivy consuming the front windowpanes. The car ride had been a quiet delight—windows cracked, a delightful tune playing from the stereo system. Naia couldn't help but notice how spacey Ronin seemed in the driver's seat during the song, only making the bare movements required to keep the car moving forward, eyes jumping to the rearview mirror when necessary. It seemed he was not fully alive yet.

Above the rickety old door was a sign that read: Madam Maeve's Café.

A couple sat outside and sipped on what looked to be an artistic frothy heart in a cup.Naia inhaled deeply, savoring the thick morning dew cloaking the air. Veiled in the sky above was a hauntingly beautiful, midnight blue fog.

As they approached the entrance, a black and white painting on the brick exterior of the café captured Naia's attention.

She paused in her step to examine it. Long strands cascaded around a woman's diamond-shaped face; her eyes were shut, embraced by pale, delicate lashes. Her head hung slightly back with one of her hands positioned beneath her chin. A gentle beauty existed in her soft, muted features, but Naia's attention was quickly drawn to the stream of blood staining her neck. It created a chilling juxtaposition to her elegance.

Below the portrait, in what Naia hoped was merely red paint, read: The blood of our souls drench the city.

Ronin cleared his throat.

Naia swung her head to find him holding the door open for her.

The phrase toggled in her mind as she stepped inside the café, but instantly died from the overstimulating rush of what was inside.

She turned her head. A broom sweeping itself came straight for her. A light squeal escaped her as the broom swept around her.

To her right, a man sat at a table and read on what Ronin referred to as a tablet. A spoon stirred his coffee on its own.

A woman, slightly older, stood behind the register. Her lips were painted the shade of a strawberry, and her bangs were stylishly cut to the middle of her forehead. As she took orders, her eyes sparkled with a friendly smile.

The machinery behind her operated of its own accord. Mugs floated to a strange mechanism and were quickly filled with bitter-smelling liquid. It mixed with a warmth and sweetness she recognized as fresh pastries, creating an overall pleasant aroma. To-go cups magically floated like stringed puppets to the counter where customers waited for their orders. Whipped cream and a medley of spices crowned the pair of mugs as they swiftly maneuvered their way to an awaiting table.

Ronin tugged on the sleeve of her shirt, smirking. "In case you were wondering, this café may be owned by a witch."

She was grateful for his teasing because it jolted her back to her senses.

Rolling her eyes, she took the spot beside him in the line, arms crossed. "Obviously."

It confirmed what she already knew—this side of the city was the magical side. The side Finnian had to be on.

Hope momentarily flourished within her. Someone could spot her and report it to Finnian. But nobody knew what she looked like, much less who she was. Finnian could pick up on her presence, but she wasn't banking on it. As a lesser goddess, her presence wasn't as pronounced as most deities.

She sighed and scanned the chalkboard above the counter.

Toad's Toes Latte.

Bat Wing Mocha.

Cappuccino of Butterfly's Tears.

She brought her fingers up to Wren, pinned neatly in her braid. You hear that, Wren? Butterfly's tears. I wasn't aware you could cry.

Each option sounded appalling, but Naia couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. While they didn't particularly sound good, they were something new.

The person ahead of them stepped up to order.

Naia's eyes skimmed along the braided twines of ivy, furling around the rafters of the ceiling and down the beams which supported the room. The greenery overtaking the café reminded her of her father—as if he were nearby somewhere, caressing this nature to appear with the graceful command of his hand. Like all the times he'd swiveled his wrist with a playful smile, blossoming a dahlia behind Naia's ear.

A sharp pang coursed through her heart.She pursed her lips to hide her frown. The woman behind the register let out abelly laugh at whatever the gentleman in front of them said before he strolled away.

Ronin stepped up and greeted the woman with a flick of his chin. "Ms. Maeve."

A look passed over her small features, thoroughly inspecting Ronin like a mother hen. It reminded Naia of the way she used to assess Finnian as a child after the days he trekked home from playing in the jungle—mud crusted around the ankles of his trousers, barefoot, and his dark hair streaked with glittering starlight from the water.

"Oh deary, you look plain awful," Ms. Maeve said, her plush accent thick and elongated. "What in the gods' names happened to you, boy?"

Ronin sighed as he fished his wallet from his back pocket. "Good to see you too, Ms. Maeve, but unfortunately, I don't have a second to spare while you point out all the ways I look unhealthy today. I am in desperate need of caffeine."

"I don't have all day to point out how you have dark circles around your eyes and you look like you've lost five pounds." She flitted her eyes to Naia, leaning over the eclectic register. "Do make sure he's eating, would ya?"

Ronin's thumb and index finger came up to the bridge of his nose. "I'll take my usual," he grumbled.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Ms. Maeve summoned a plastic cup onto the glossy countertop. It slid beneath what looked to be a faucet coming up from the surface.

Naia watched in fascination as the lever descended on its own and a frothy brown liquid poured from the faucet's spout.

"What can I get for you, dear?" she asked Naia with a cheery smile.

Naia glanced between Ronin to the chalkboard above, rereading her options. It was all gibberish to her.

Naia looked at Ronin again for help.As she did so, a slice of something decadent sailed towards a couple in the far corner of the café. The nutty, rich smell of the chocolate-covered dessert was heavenly.

"Since you love sweet stuff, how about a Starry-Eyed Latte?" Ronin suggested, noticing her gawking."And a slice of that cake to try?"

With a radiant smile, Naia's enthusiasm overflowed, impossible to restrain. "That sounds wonderful."

Ms. Maeve smiled at Naia's giddy reaction and snapped her fingers. "Right away, deary. I'll even throw in some extra caramel on the top for you, no charge."

"I love coffee.This is truly amazing. Do you want to try a sip?" Naia could hear the pace of her words, as if her tongue and brain were in a race, but she couldn't help it. The cake she'd eaten was moist and bitterly sweet with the crunch of hazelnuts. Sharp chocolate frosting and the creamy, buttery notes of the latte melded together was, by far, the best combination she'd ever tasted.

Obviously, after trying the latte, she couldn't stop at one. By the time they walked out of Madam Maeve's, she had downed three with another secure in her hand.

Ronin popped an amused smile over at her, eyes jumping from the frozen drink she offered, which was generously topped with caramel and freshly whipped cream, and then back up to her face. "White chocolate isn't my favorite, but I'm glad you've had a coffee revelation."

Naia continued sucking down more of the drink through her straw while taking in the evening. Warm splashes of the sunset seeped between the tall buildings of the city, saturating the cars parked along the curb with a persimmon's glow.

Ronin strode beside her, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a plastic cup full of a cold, black liquid. His lifeblood: a nitro cold brew.

As she continuously sipped her drink, she stole sidelong glances of him. His hair was pulled back in a half bun. Pieces swayed in his eyes as he walked. She noticed the lone freckle on the side of his neck, and a small, white, puffy line of skin right below it. It seemed to be a scar, and Naia could barely contain her curiosity. Biting down on her straw, she stuffed her interest back down her throat.

"What do you typically do for fun?" she asked instead, itching to roam the city more.

"Work," he mumbled unenthusiastically.

"That cannot be all." She stirred around the whipped cream with her straw. "If I wasn't with you right now, what would you be doing?"

Ronin took a long swig of his coffee. He sighed when he noticed Naia waiting patiently for his response. "I'd take a night off from cooking and go to my favorite place to get takoyaki. Then, I'd eat in my apartment and waste away on my couch watching black and white movies… Until Avi came banging on my door and ruined my peaceful night."

"What is takoyaki?"

"They are hot, grilled balls, usually filled with octopus and topped with bonito flakes." He paused briefly, popping the knuckles of his free hand. "My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up. It's my favorite."

Naia glanced down at his thumb curling around each finger and popping. Something he only did when he appeared to be uncomfortable or on edge. "Sounds delicious," she said.

"I'll take you sometime." He looked over at her as he said the words, and if she didn't know any better, it sounded like he was asking her out on a date. "If you want."

A light smile parted her lips. "I'd love that." She took another sip of her coffee, and then in a teasing manner said, "You must be grateful for me. For I have broken the dreadful cycle of your bland routine."

Ronin rolled his eyes, grinning. "I can be exciting when I want to?—"

An ear-catching tune sounded.

They paused in the middle of the sidewalk in front of an occult shop, and Ronin pulled out his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. "What?"

He slightly shifted his body, facing the street. Naia gave him a moment of privacy and fixated on the occult shop window. Free tarot card reading! She had no idea what it meant, but the flickering flames of candles caught her eye through the tinted glass.

Above her reflection, fat shadows shrouded over her, their masses rippling. The breath died in Naia's lungs. Marina.

Her muscles stiffened, and she whipped around.

"Whoa." Ronin was directly behind her, tucking his phone away, brow creasing. "Are you okay?"

Naia's pulse pounded in her ears as she searched over Ronin's head. There was nothing there but the last touches of the fading sunset glinting off the downtown city buildings.

Ronin's eyes flitted around her face, searching for the answer she wasn't giving.

"Y-yes, I am fine," she got out through an exhale. "I think maybe we should go back to your apartment."

He shook his head. "Why?"

"Because." It's safer.

Ronin studied her a beat longer, his intensely perceptive gaze burning through the front she shielded herself with. "What are you afraid of?"

"You said you wouldn't ask questions." Naia diverged her gaze down to the melting slush in her cup and pressed her tongue on the roof of her mouth, refusing to answer.

"Holing up in my apartment is no safer than being out in the open. Besides, the night's not over yet. I have somewhere else I want to take you."

She lifted her chin then to look at him, her pulse skipping at the thought of remaining vulnerable. "It's not safe."

Whether she was simply paranoid and seeing things in the reflection of the glass, it served as a reminder of the stakes she was up against. Mira. Marina. Cassian.

Naia's hand came up to rest on the top of her shoulder, brushing her fingertips underneath the hem of her shirt and over her skin. Her last curse mark felt like an engraving, and often, she'd absentmindedly trace its design. Within seconds, she'd remember its purpose and the fact it chained her to Kaimana. The feeling was hollow and unending, and it was only a matter of time until she bore another curse mark on her skin. Whatever it may be, she had no right to involve Ronin.

All the previous joy and happiness Naia carried out of the café drained away. In its place was nausea and unease.

"We're friends, right?" Ronin asked, his voice softening.

She tilted her head, contemplating the definition of friendship. "I suppose, but I am not sure. I haven't ever had a friend."

"You rely on your friends," he said with a gentle look. "Lean on me a little bit. Whoever you're running from, I promise I won't let them take you." He leaned in and lifted his hand between them with his pinky finger extended.

Naia's guard rose at the prospect of relyingon anyone but herself. "Do not make vows you cannot keep," she said in a hard tone.

"I would never." Ronin held onto her eyes.

His disposition remained nonchalant—relaxed shoulders, his fingertips hanging onto his nearly empty plastic cup. She wanted to believe he was stupidly na?ve, that his promise was all ego talking. She wanted to, but in the end, she believed him and his idiotic promise. He'd gotten her this far.

Naia glanced around at her surroundings, gripping her sweaty cup for grounding. The lampposts had flickered on, basking the sidewalk in a white glow mixed with the colorful neon of businesses. More vehicles filled the streets, and there seemed to be a collective rise in the number of pedestrians passing by Naia and Ronin.

Yes, they were out in the open, and yes, Marina could appear, and all hell could break loose. But, it hadn't yet.

You are safe with Ronin.

She filled her lungs with a deep breath, refocusing on Ronin's pinky finger. "Fine, but what does this mean?"

He chuckled. "It's called a pinky promise. It binds my vow to you in a figurative sense."

"It sounds like a load of nonsense." She lifted her hand, unsure how to proceed.

Ronin hooked his pinky finger around hers. "There. Promise made."

Naia's entire hand buzzed from his touch. "Very well, now tell me where we are going?"

Their pinky fingers were still intertwined. Ronin's pupils flared, swallowing his rich, brunette irises as he stared at her.

Naia's heart sped up, eager to break their connection, but secretly wanting to make it last.

"May I hold your hand?" he asked.

A fire sparked to life in her chest. She bit her lip back, praying the dusky light hid the blush in her cheeks, and nodded.

He threaded their fingers together and led her down the sidewalk.

The soundof a clarinet and a saxophone touched her ears as they descended the concrete stairs of a cluttered alley.

Ronin led her through the underground entrance, and pops of eagerness sparked behind Naia's sternum. The music thrummed up her legs and down her arms. A thin veil of smoke cloaked the room and the sea of people inside.

Naia squeezed Ronin's fingers without meaning to as he led her further in. She bumped shoulders with strangers who danced to the energetic tune. The earlier conversation with Ronin came back to mind when he had asked her what her favorite music was. Her heart puddled at his kind gesture. She had to clench the muscles in her arms to avoid throwing herself around him to express her appreciation.

"You made it!" Avi waved them down before planting himself on a red leather seat in the corner of the elongated room. His copper strands were slick in a side part, and he smiled wide as they approached.

Crystal lights shimmered above. In the center of the club stood a smooth, marble bar surrounded by people sitting on stools. The stage was housed at the far end of the room. Naia counted six band members, all playing instruments with a synergy she was inescapably drawn to.

Violet hopped up from her seat beside Avi and greeted Naia with her arms opening for a hug. "Yay! I am so happy you came!"

Naia couldn't help her grimace and the need to shrink away before Violet could touch her.

But to her surprise, Ronin stepped sideways, positioning himself in front of Naia at perfect timing.

Violet dropped her arms back down to the sides of her sequin dress. "What gives?" she pouted.

"Not everyone appreciates invasive greetings, Vi," Ronin muttered.

Violet's eyes grew slightly wide with understanding, nodding. "Of course. Silly me." She slapped her palm across her forehead and shifted in her chunky boots to address Naia. "Gods, I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes."

An innate need rose in Naia to step outside of her comfort zone. To be okay with receiving a hug or a hand shake from another. The small steps she'd made with Ronin gave her the sliver of confidence she needed to believe this was something obtainable for her.

Naia released Ronin's hand and took in a casual breath through her nose, plastering on a smile. "No worries."

She stepped around Ronin and forced herself to embrace Violet's petite frame, engulfed by a cloud of fruity perfume.

"Hi Violet," Naia said, pinning her focus on distinguishing the discomfort crawling over her skin. "It is nice to see you again."

You are safe. She repeated the mantra in her mind to reassure her body as the muscles in her chest clenched.

Ronin strolled towards Avi and another male she did not recognize.

"You're too freaking cute. Call me Vi!" Violet gave her a quick squeeze around the ribcage in return and then pulled away. "If I ever make you feel uncomfortable, just say so!" She snatched Naia by the hand, dragging her to the others.

Avi passed Ronin a dark liquor in a glass before fixing his attention onto Naia. "Glad you could join us! This is Damian." He pointed his thumb to the stranger beside him. "He works at the brewery, too. Lucky bastard doesn't have any shifts in the taproom this week."

Damian sat with his arms stretched along the back of the banquette seat, appearing relaxed, as if he could melt into a puddle on the floor at any moment. The shadowy lighting hindered her view of his features, but she could discern a buzz cut and some tattoos covering his arms beneath the mesh sleeves of his tunic.

One specifically caught her eye. A tattoo of what appeared to be a woman in a similar pose as the one outside Madam Maeve's Café.

He sized Naia up with an arrogant gleam in his eyes. "Who do we have here?"

"Naia." She shifted her weight onto one foot to get a better view of his tattoo.

"Nice to meet you, Naia." He reached over onto the table to grab his beverage and took a swig. "Are you a friend of Ronin's, or did he pick you up on Roseland?"

Losing her view of the tattoo, she brought her eyes onto his face. Her mouth parted, but she had no clue how to respond. What was Roseland? And why did it sound as if he were insulting her?

"For fuck's sake, Damian, do you have to be intolerable?" Avi rubbed his temples, flexing his large bicep beneath the pastel pink blazer of his suit as he did so.

"Calm down, Aviel." Damian jerked his chin towards Avi's glass on the table. "Take a drink."

"Ignore him, Naia," Avi said, expression exasperated. "He enjoys getting a reaction out of people."

Violet propped herself up on the back of the banquette, swinging her short legs. A sly grin lifted the corner of her mouth with a strange anticipation as her eyes skipped onto Ronin.

He still possessed his casual aura, but Naia could see the grinding of his jaw. He took a sip of his drink, glaring at Damian over the glass.

"I am a friend," Naia replied to Damian. She cocked her head. "What is Roseland?"

With a roguish grin, he lowered his glass to his lap. "Roseland is a wonderful street. My favorite, if we're being honest. I think you'd find a bit of business there—" Damian winced.

His carefree demeanor tensed, and he gripped the side of his head, splashing some of his drink on the fabric of his trousers.

Naia gasped and moved closer to him. "Are you okay?"

Damian gave a lousy wave while hanging his head in obvious pain. "Yeah. Peachy."

A terse breath left her, and she glanced at the others for answers. They were unfazed by whatever episode Damian had. Avi stared down at his own lap, pretending to pick lint off his khaki-colored pants. Violet snapped her fingers and tapped her feet to the jazzy rhythm of the song. Both completely ignoring the situation, which Naia found suspicious.

She spun to look at Ronin, noticing the few timid stares from the passersby aiming in his direction. Fully attuned to the couple sitting at the bar, whispering to one another, their attention fixed on him. A young man mixing drinks at the bar averted his gaze the moment Naia stumbled into it.

"Damian is fine," Ronin assured her. "Just gets these awful splitting headaches."

He held out a hand, his expression as neutral as ever, despite the not-so-subtle eyes watching him around the room. "Come on, let's get closer to the band."

Naia let him take her by the hand, still confused by what had taken place.

As they walked away, she couldn't resist peeking back at Damian, slouched back on the seat, his previous taunting prowl now absent in his expression as he massaged his forehead with his forefinger and thumb.

Avi winked with a wave. "Have fun!"

She had a strong hunch that whatever had happened was Ronin's doing, but the only way to prove it was to directly ask. Something she couldn't do, considering she'd made him practically swear not to ask her questions. Which was another reason she couldn't exactly ask why people were watching him out of the corner of their eyes, like he could go mad and raze the entire place in an instant.

Ronin maneuvered them through the crowded space. Smoke curled in the air, sticking in Naia's hair as they traveled through layers of the herbal, woody scent.

The closer Ronin brought her to the stage, the more rambunctious those around them became. Strangers bumped into her from the side, from behind, twirling their arms, smiles leaping over their faces, each dancing to the catchy rhythm of the song.

Ronin lightly tugged her forward on her feet, pulling her in front of him and spinning her in a circle. She caught a brief glimpse of a genuine smile on his face—displaying his teeth, plumping his cheeks, and squishing his eyes. The sight made her insides pulse, as if she'd swallowed a flicker of candlelight.

He released her hand, and the current of people carried her. Her body moved with memory, falling into sync with the music. Laughter bubbled out of her as she shook her hips and swayed her arms.

If things ended terribly, this moment would have made it all worth it.

Naia wasn't sure how long she danced. When the band transitioned into another song, she was compelled to seek Ronin out.

He stood off to the side of the dance floor, arms crossed, content watching her from afar.

She squeezed through the bodies to get to him.

"Come on!" She tugged on his sleeve, laughing when he stared at her with his usual easy-going expression, making no move to follow her. If only he knew how easily she could beat his stubborn strength and yank him out onto the floor with her. "Please?"

"Naia, I hate dancing," he stated in a deadpan tone.

A tremor quivered through her chest hearing him call her by her name.

She feigned sulking, jutting out her bottom lip. "Come on. One dance."

A long second passed and the stern set of his lips loosened.

He rolled his eyes. "Fucking fine, but just one."

She gave a victorious squeal and hauled him out onto the floor.

When Ronin had asked what her favorite type of music was, she'd thought of the time she'd listened to music on a radio back when they were first invented. Vex had brought one from the Mortal Land, and she'd found him, alone, listening to it in the garden.

It was a testament to how far she'd come. Once crouching in the bushes to hear the music playing from the distance, to spinning around with the sound flooding her ears. It was a dream come true to have someone to share such a sentimental moment with.

Ronin twirled her around in circles, tripping over her feet. Deep-bellied laughter spewed out of her as she took the lead and guided him on how to twist his hips.

The deep bloom of the trombone, the smooth heartbeat of the percussion, reverberated in her blood.

Forever a small, glistening moment.