Both Earth and Emiarhia treated New Year's Eve as a reason to celebrate. Both had developed their own traditions and rituals, which in turn influenced each other over the centuries. On Earth, there were large parties with alcohol, kissing at midnight and fireworks. On Emiarhia, the celebrations were a lot calmer. Children stayed up late to watch the first sunrise of the new year. Festivities included bonfires, music and food. It was traditional to wear blue for good luck, although that trend had been dying out over the past few decades.

  I'd just finished my afternoon training session and was sorting through some things at Kadia's house. My room wasn't so much a room as a makeshift space in the loft. It was cramped but I was thankful for the storage. There was a large chest, an armoire, a desk, and an old armchair. I kept stuff there that I couldn't keep around on Earth: gifts, school supplies, textbooks, clothing, souvenirs, and the occasional knickknack. Basically everything besides armour and weapons, which stayed in the barracks. I always tried my best to keep everything tidy, but I'd made a habit of throwing everything onto the floor and hoping to deal with it later. That had resulted in a mess that I was now attempting to fix.

  From where I was standing, I could see glimpses of Kadia and Thorne in the kitchen below. They were making food for the celebrations tonight and I could hear them laughing together. Thorne had decided to teach Kadia how to make a traditional Winithinian New Year's Eve meal: a stew consisting of mixed vegetables, herbs, cream, and a type of bird called a kah'lek. It was usually eaten with bread or flatbread, which Kadia was currently kneading.

  "No, no, you need to be a bit more gentle with it. Let it guide your movements. It doesn't have to be perfect, but we want it to be a nice consistency," Thorne explained.

  "I've never been very skilled at cooking," Kadia replied with a sigh.

  "You're doing fine, love. You'll get better with practice," he assured her. "It's really quite easy. All you need is the right ingredients and some basic techniques. No idea why everyone's so afraid of it."

  "Then, I am lucky to have a swain who grew up in a restaurant," she said, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  He chuckled. "That you are."

  I felt a small pang of jealousy. It was rare to see them be fully affectionate with each other, but those times were a bit hard to watch. As mortifying as admitting this was, I would find myself wishing I could have what they had. Someone to joke around with while cooking. Someone to enjoy a holiday with. Someone that would patiently help me fix a mistake, and then give me a kiss afterward. Someone to laugh with and talk with and sit in silence with. And for a moment, I let myself picture what a date with Luke would be like.

  Where would we go? Would we eat popcorn on the couch and watch movies until we fell asleep? Would we hike somewhere beautiful and dance when we reached the top? Would we sit at a cute little table somewhere or on the grass at a park? Would I bring my camera? Would we write our names on trees in big, loopy letters? Would he laugh if I tripped over a rock? Would we go for an early morning swim at the beach? Or snuggle in a blanket on a balcony while drinking coffee? I shook my head to rid myself of these thoughts and returned to folding clothes.

  Love wasn't a concept I knew much about. I loved my family and my friends very much, but not romantically. I'd never experienced the kind of love you'd see in movies or read about in novels. Although I couldn't prove it, I couldn't help feeling like I was missing out. I knew lots of girls my age that had partners. It almost seemed like there were more that did than didn't. At least on Earth. Is it desperate to say you want that? Was I living too fast? Those questions usually led to a cycle of overthinking.

  I'd always prided myself on being independent. I liked my alone time and wasn't a fan of any sort of spotlight. I also got sick of seeing some of the relationships around me. The happy ones were a treat to be around, until the needles of jealousy crept up. The not-so-happy ones gave me anxiety. Then the bad ones were just heartbreaking. Don't even get me started on toxic relationships. I would not put up with any of that for the world. I'd had the occasional nightmare about what Nathan could've done to me if I hadn't put my foot down. But I still wanted someone to make hot chocolate for and laugh with. Doesn't everybody want that? Doesn't everybody want to be loved? Was I weak for admitting that? Or cynical for denying it?

  I didn't want it so I could feel whole. I didn't want someone to do everything for me. Rather, I wanted romance like I wanted a successful career, or to travel, or a nice house. It was a goal. An aspiration. An adventure. Something else to make this fleeting life better. Someone to explore with, and to share the burdens of the journey with. But, of course, I had a major roadblock to that. The life of a saviour is not suitable for romantics.

  Sometimes it was like there were two parts of me, and they weren't compatible at all. Brain and heart.

  The sound of the phone ringing stopped me from going deeper into that rabbit hole.

  "Oh, Brielle, could you get that?" Kadia called from the kitchen. "Our hands are covered in dough."

  I set aside the jacket I was holding, then skidded down the loft ladder. "Yep!" Picking up the silver receiver, I cleared my throat before answering. "Hello, Captain Lowell's residence."

  Shaye's voice floated out of the device's speaker. "Oh, good. I was hoping you hadn't left yet. I...need your help. Can you come over?"

  I furrowed my brow. "Uh, sure, but what for? Are you okay? Nothing's wrong, is it?"

  "Everything is fine," she answered. "See, Ashkan and I are having a discussion. He's had this idea for a while now, and he seems quite convinced. But it involves all three of us. It'll be easiest if you just come over and he'll explain it."

  Ashkan's words were muffled in the background. "Tell her it's a superb idea."

  "It may be so, but we need her on board for this," Shaye said. Then, louder, "Ashkan says it's a fabulous notion."

  I laughed at that. "Be there in ten." I heard her hang up, so I returned the phone to its base.

  "Who was it?" Kadia asked, sticking her head out from the kitchen doorway.

  "It was Shaye. She said she needs my help and that I should just come over."

  "For what?"

  "I dunno. She just wants to talk about something. Could be anything."

  She crossed her arms. "Well, can it wait? I mustn't leave until this has rested and risen."

  I cringed. "Please, can I go on my own? I'll hide my face."

  "You know the rules," she retorted. "Either your guards escort you, or I do."

  "C'mon, it's Shaye! I'll be safe! It's barely ten minutes from here to there. I'm almost eighteen and a combat-trained professional. Please?" I begged.

  "Professional? Brielle–"

  "You can check on me if you really think it's so dangerous. You'll know where I am. It would take too long to bring my guards back over from the palace," I added. "And you and Thorne deserve some time to yourselves, wouldn't you say? Without having to coddle us all the time?"

  Thorne looked up from the stew pot, his expression an insinuation.

  She smacked him on the arm. "Behave."

  He smirked and shrugged.

  Kadia turned back to me. "...Fine. You may go. On one condition. That you wear your necklace and teleport straight to Earth at even the slightest hint of danger. And conceal yourself entirely. Two conditions."

  "Only two? Why, I'm so lucky!" I joked, climbing back up the loft ladder.

  She shook her head. "Any more sarcasm and you're out of my house."

  "I will cease," I replied as I grabbed the chain off the desk. I descended the ladder and shot Kadia a smile as I put on my boots.

  "Don't be long," she insisted.

  I saluted with two fingers. "Yes, ma'am." Turning on my heel, I made my way to the front door.

  As I passed the long mirror that hung on the wall, I stopped. I adjusted my coat and checked my appearance. I'd showered after training, as I did every day, so my hair was still damp. The flat waves looked kind of rumpled. Something stirred in my conscience. I stared at myself. Does my hair look stringy? Does this belt look okay? Do pinstripes make my legs look weird? The more I looked, the more flaws I could pick out. The bluish veins around my eyes. The pores on my nose. A raw spot on my bottom lip from absentmindedly chewing on it. How my eyebrows were never exactly symmetrical. A few acne scars here and there. I must've had bad acne when I was younger on Emiarhia, just like on Earth.

  What the hell am I doing...?

  With a mental slap, I returned myself to the present. I took a slow breath, then pulled my hood down and my scarf over my nose. Finally, I stepped out of the house. The hinges squeaked, as usual, and the wind chimes rattled as the door swung open and closed.

  Outside, the snow was falling in fat flakes. The ground was still coated in a thick layer and the temperature was well below freezing. I quickly twisted my hair into a side braid while starting towards Shaye's house. My footsteps crunched the snow as I cut through the main square. There were comparatively few people out, probably due to the weather and holiday. A group of kids were throwing snowballs at each other in front of a store. Two old ladies were talking animatedly at a tram station. Horses and pegasi clopped along, pulling wagons or carriages.

  As I walked, I thought back to the previous day. The mission. Simultaneously, it felt as though that was weeks ago and only minutes ago. The memory was still so fresh. The puzzles, the fire, the ocean. The bitter cold. Ashkan's limp body. We were expected to move on so quickly. It all ran through my mind like a movie rewinding over and over. The same images on a loop. It was hard not to wonder if he was doing all right. Had he told anyone about it? Niista? His father?

  It didn't take long to reach the familiar, tall, brownstone house. Smoke trailed from the chimney. The steps were clear of snow, the walkway swept. The flowerbeds were filled with lush winter flowers. The windows were decorated with greenery and blue ribbons for the new year. There were two small wreaths on the door and a lantern by the birdbath. A small porch with a swing. Everything was always so quaint.

  I climbed the stairs and knocked three times. Seconds later, the door opened, revealing a slightly frazzled Shaye. Her garnet hair was secured back with a clip, but flyaways were everywhere.

  "Thank the stars. Ashkan is driving me mad. Come in, come in," she greeted, waving me inside.

  I smiled as I entered. "Good to know I'm not the only one."

  "You don't know the half of it," she groaned as she led me upstairs. The banister was wrapped in garland.

  We entered her room. Ashkan was lying on the bed, tossing a small ball of yarn into the air and catching it. I didn't understand how he could stay so casual after yesterday. His wheat-coloured locks shone gold in the afternoon light.

  "Oh, good, you're here," he noted, sitting up. "Now we can get down to business."

  I made myself comfortable on the windowsill. "What exactly are we getting down to?"

  Shaye sighed. "I'll let him explain. It's his idea."

  He leaned forward. "Brielle, how would you feel about a tattoo?"

  My brows rose. "Huh?"

  "A tattoo. You know, permanent ink under your skin," he clarified.

  "No, no, I know what they are. What I don't know is why."

  "Well, they're significant on Emiarhia. Not everyone has one, but they're pretty common. They're usually done to commemorate something. An achievement. A milestone. A loss. Something that changes a person's life. So, I was thinking, since we're supposed to save the world and whatnot... We should have matching marks."

  "And you came up with this because...?" I prompted.

  He shrugged. "It makes sense to me. We'll need to rely on each other a lot in the coming months. Maybe years. And we should have a symbol of that. Something that represents us as a unit. A link."

  "He really just wants an excuse to get a tattoo," Shaye added, giving him a knowing look.

  "I'll admit that," he conceded.

  I considered his proposition. There was a convincing argument behind it. The mark would remind us of our duty, as well as our unity. We were all different, but we were told that we shared the same fate. The same destiny. And that would bind us for the rest of our lives. Our stories were intertwined whether we liked it or not. The tattoo would be a physical manifestation of that. Something we could see and touch. But the only thing holding me back was the permanence.

  "I have no issue with the concept. It sounds great," I told them. "But, uh, it's permanent. You're sure about that?"

  "...So is death," Ashkan responded. "If we don't succeed, it won't matter. If we do, then we'll have an eternal reminder of our victory."

  I stared at him blankly. Sometimes, it was the most reasoned, intelligent, insightful things that came out of his mouth. And he'd say them like he was reading off a shopping list.

  "You can be so dramatic," Shaye laughed.

  He smirked. "Only on weekends."

  I shook my head and chuckled. What was there to lose? "Okay, when you put it like that... I'm in."

  He nodded. "Excellent. It can always be removed if you change your mind. They just use a special type of tincture and a needle."

  "How do you know so much about this?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  "I like them, that's all. I like the possibilities."

  I looked to Shaye. "And you're against this?"

  She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I am not exactly...against the idea. It is a nice sentiment. The point of contention is the design."

  "Naturally, Shaye is being fussy about that part," Ashkan teased.

  "I am not fussy," she retorted, crossing her arms. "I simply believe that if we are to have a permanent mark, we should choose one that is aesthetically pleasing. One that we'll enjoy looking at. Not something that is large and garish."

  "But the larger, the better. No one ever looks twice at small tattoos," he insisted.

  I watched as they went back and forth, each trying to make their case. It was kind of fun.

  "What is wrong with simple?"

  "Simple is boring. It's plain."

  "It's elegant."

  "You're not being artistic enough."

  "We need to be practical."

  "Life's not worth living if you're not a little reckless."

  "We're not getting tattoos to impress anyone!"

  "It's a bonus if we do."

  I smiled as I listened. Shaye was a very rational, methodical person. She liked order. Everything in its place. Aesthetics were important to her, but she also liked practicality. She was not someone who would not take a risk unless she absolutely had to. But Ashkan was sometimes the opposite. He was adventurous. Often carefree. Spontaneous. He liked to bend the rules. He wanted excitement. In a way, they complemented each other.

  "Hey, you two," I cut in. They stopped and turned to face me. "This is something we're all going to have forever. So, let's agree on something that works for all of us. Something that's meaningful."

  "And it can't be something silly," Shaye added, glaring at Ashkan.

  He scoffed. "That would defeat the purpose of having them. You should be proud of a mark."

  "Why don't we make a compromise?" I suggested.

  "I am not compromising my principles for a tattoo," she stated.

  Ashkan held up a hand. "Just hear her out."

  She nodded. "Very well. What is it?"

  I cleared my throat. "Why not combine both of your ideas? Something large enough to be impressive, but small enough not to be obtrusive. Maybe…somewhere on the inside of the elbow?"

  Shaye pursed her lips. "Hm. I suppose that could work."

  Ashkan shrugged. "Fine with me. Any ideas about the design?"

  "Stars?" she offered. "Like our birthmarks. Or constellations. Something like that?"

  "I can't think of anything more perfect," I agreed.

  "Well, let's see what the artists say. There's a shop just down the road," he said, standing up.

  "Wait, right now?" Shaye questioned.

  "Yes, right now," he replied as he opened the bedroom door. "We have a plan. We're in agreement. Now is as good a time as any."

  She hesitated, then followed him. "...All right."

  I got up and tailed them, grinning. As much as they annoyed each other, I knew they cared. It was sweet.

  The two of them led the way through town. The streets were slushy, the stones slick and damp. Horses clopped along the roads, their hooves splashing. Snow clung to everything – the lampposts, the eaves of buildings, the awnings. It was even a little quieter than earlier, with most people returning home to celebrate the new year. You'd think most businesses would be closed today, but this was the time when everyone was shopping for food and decorations, or touring a new city, so it was actually rare for a shop to be closed on this holiday.

  We soon arrived at a small, brick building with a bright yellow awning. A sign above the door read, 'Crescent Moons Tattoos'. The interior was warm and cozy, with hardwood floors and a dark, exposed-beam ceiling. There was a waiting area with a couch, a coffee table, and a small shelf with some magazines. The walls were decorated with framed art.

  There was a man sitting behind the counter, sketching something on a notepad. His hair was shaved on the sides, but the top was long and braided. His arms were covered in tattoos.

  "Hello, there," he greeted, looking up. He set his quill down. I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes that he recognized us. Unsurprisingly.

  "Hi, do you accept walk-ins?" Ashkan asked.

  "Always, sir," the man replied. "Have a seat. Someone will be out to help you in a moment."

  We nodded and took a seat on the sofa. Shaye was the only one who seemed nervous, while Ashkan and I were totally at ease. She sat in the middle, fiddling with her hands.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

  "I can," Ashkan commented.

  "It's not too late to change your mind," I pointed out.

  She shook her head. "I am committed. Besides, I do like the idea. It is a lovely sentiment."

  "We're a team," I reminded her. "Whatever happens, we're in this together."

  "Until the bitter end," Ashkan chimed in.

  "Quite," she agreed. "...You know, it's funny. Inkbloods have their own matching tattoos. Marks that connect them to a horrible set of beliefs and ideals. And, here we are...choosing our own tattoos to unite us. A bit of a parallel, is it not?"

  "I guess so," I agreed.

  "Ironic," Ashkan added.

  We lapsed into silence. The shop was mostly empty. It was quiet enough that I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

  Finally, an artist emerged from the back curtain. She was tall and curvy, with freckled skin and a long, periwinkle braid. Her catlike eyes had a slight upward tilt. Her hands and wrists were adorned with several silver rings and delicate bracelets that clinked quietly. She was pretty, quite young, and kind of intimidating in her tattoos and piercings.

  "Ready for some ink?" she asked, looking between us. "I'm Esme. I already know who you are, of course. Come on back, and we can talk about what you'd like."

  Ashkan pushed himself off the couch, leading the way. We followed Esme into a small, brightly lit room. There was an open trunk in the corner, overflowing with paints, needles, inks, tinctures, and tools. A leather armchair in front of the window. An artist's sketchpad on a small table. The bare walls were decorated with various pictures and symbols. Most were tribal-style designs with dots and thick lines. A few were decorative artworks of animals or flowers. Others were words or phrases.

  Esme gestured to the side of the room, and we made ourselves comfortable on an upholstered bench.

  "So, what can I do for the Luminaries today?" she asked, getting out her pad and quill.

  "Uh, yeah, we want to get matching tattoos," Ashkan explained. "Inside of the right elbow."

  She hummed, sketching out the area. "Have you figured out the design?"

  "We're thinking about a star," I said. "Something pretty small, but not too small. Not intricate, but not super simple."

  "And definitely not tacky," Shaye added quickly.

  Esme laughed, amused by her worried tone. "Not a problem. Nothing flashy, got it." She continued sketching, a slight smirk on her lips. "Are you sure you're old enough to be getting a tattoo?"

  "We're all older than sixteen. Well within the law," Ashkan informed her.

  She raised a pierced brow. "Eh? Well, I could tell you are. You look more a man than some thirty-year-olds I know."

  He faltered, his face turning slightly pink. "Uh, thanks..."

  She shrugged and looked back down at her drawings, adding the finishing touches. After a minute or two, she showed us the different designs. We looked them over carefully. She had paid careful attention to what we described. They were all unique, though similar in tone. There were lone stars as well as constellations of several. None were too extravagant or simple, leaving room to be modified.

  After discussing each one with Shaye and Ashkan, we settled on a constellation of three modest, five-point stars to represent the three of us. They were connected with pointed lines and rays, and were surrounded by smaller stars and dots. Two of the three main stars were outlines, and one was solid black. Each of us would have a different star that was coloured in. The entire arrangement was about two by three inches. Subtle, but meaningful. I thought it was perfect.

  "Brilliant," Ashkan said.

  Shaye nodded in agreement. "This is the one."

  "Wonderful," Esme replied. "Should we get started? Who would like to go first?"

  We exchanged glances.

  Ashkan shrugged. "Well, this was my idea. That seems fair."

  Esme grinned. "Lovely. Come and sit, then."

  He got up and made his way over to the armchair. Esme prepared her materials and pulled a rolling table towards him.

  "Okay, if you'll just rest your right arm on the chair and roll up your sleeve," she directed.

  He obeyed, resting his bare forearm on the padded surface. I saw a glimmer of a smile as Esme got to work. She sterilized his skin and applied the stencil, making sure the stars were properly aligned. He didn't seem bothered by the process. She gave him a brief overview of how the ink worked.

  Tattoos on Emiarhia didn't work like those on Earth – rather than using needles to puncture the skin and deposit the ink, the stencil was carefully painted over with a special mix of pigments and minerals. Then, a machine was used to activate the paint and make the pigments permanent, 'burning' it past the surface of the skin. Almost like an engraving, but it didn't actually damage the skin. It was only painful for a moment.

  Esme began tracing the stencil with a very thin brush. She did the outline first, then started colouring in one of the three main stars. The ink was matte black. Ashkan's eyes were glued to her hands, watching the progress. I wondered if he was a little nervous despite his casual exterior. He never seemed afraid of pain. Maybe the idea of permanency was more nerve-wracking.

  My eyes also wandered to Esme's hands. The gloved one holding the brush was pressed against the inside of Ashkan's arm as she drew near the crease of his elbow. The other wasn't as steady. It would move up and down his arm, then back to the side. Around his bicep, then back to his elbow. Every few minutes, she would lean closer, tilting her head to observe her work. At first, I figured the touches were just to adjust the angle, to see better. But there was a consistent pattern, too. It was hardly noticeable.

  I started paying more attention to her left hand, seeing where it would linger the longest. It was usually somewhere in the vicinity of his upper arm. And she almost always let it stay. Sometimes she'd run her fingers across his forearm, pretending to wipe off something that wasn't there. My gaze flickered back and forth between the two. Ashkan didn't seem to realize. He glanced back and forth between the stencil and the window. The realization clicked together in my mind. Esme was totally checking him out.

  "Almost done," she commented. "I have to say, this is one of the prettier star tattoos I've designed. It's not every day that I tattoo something so delicate on someone so...rugged. Usually, it's skulls and swords and daggers."

  Ashkan chuckled. "I suppose we break the mold."

  "So to speak," she agreed with a smile. Her gaze wandered down to his torso for a split second, then back up. "Such a shame I haven't seen you in here before."

  He shrugged one shoulder. "Our journey tends to keep us on the move."

  "You must be stuck together a lot," she observed. "On the road all the time, running around, trying to save the world... You know, I'm sure it gets mighty stressful. Can't imagine."

  "Oh, you get used to it," he replied simply.

  "Doesn't sound like much fun," she mused, keeping her eyes on her brush. "Do you ever get a chance to unwind? Do they let you relax? Enjoy the perks of being famous?"

  Ashkan flexed his fingers a little. "Sure. Every now and then."

  She nodded slowly. "Hm. I'd assume it gets dull, facing danger so frequently. Really wears on one's psyche."

  "Not nearly as much as being idle."

  "You don't strike me as the idle type," Esme noted with a grin.

  I looked to Shaye, who had been watching the exchange with curious amusement. I shifted and leaned closer to her. "Um, am I crazy, or is she flirting?"

  "She's flirting," she confirmed, straightening her sleeves.

  "Should we say something?" I asked in a low tone.

  "No... It's harmless. I would say Ashkan's used to it, but persistent obliviousness doesn't quite equal familiarity."

  I bit my tongue. "Yeah... True."

  We looked back at the two. Esme was finishing up the tiny stars and dots around the main piece.

  "You have excellent muscle tone," she remarked. "Training must be strict."

  Ashkan just nodded. "All part of the job."

  "Sure, sure. Looks like it's getting intense now," she continued. "Can't be easy. Be thankful that you have each other. Someone to lean on in times of need, eh?"

  Ashkan glanced at Shaye and I, nodding again. "Definitely."

  Shaye was doing her best to hide her amusement. I could tell she was laughing on the inside. Probably rolling her eyes, too.

  Esme went on, "That sense of responsibility and devotion is admirable, you know?" She blinked up at him through dark eyelashes. "Very noble. Many people couldn't withstand that pressure. But I'm sure you know that already. Me, I've always thought there's a thin line between bravery and foolishness. And heroes tend to navigate it perfectly."

  "I know what you mean," Ashkan said, though I recognized the tone he used when he didn't understand at all. Shaye did, too. She squeezed her lips together to keep from laughing.

  "Aha!" Esme exclaimed, holding up her brush. "Complete. All done."

  Ashkan finally pried his eyes off the window and gazed down at his arm. "...Blimey. You couldn't even tell it was hand-drawn."

  "Thanks. I practice a lot," she replied with a proud smile. "All right. Now for the imprinting. It'll hurt, but not for long. Super quick process."

  "Go for it."

  Esme rolled over the small machine – a wand-like, bronze device with a handle and several dials and switches. It looked vaguely like one of those light therapy devices. She adjusted the settings, then hovered it over Ashkan's new tattoo. A holographic, blue light radiated from the wand and onto his skin. She let the beam hover there while humming softly.

  Ashkan's eyes widened a little at the contact. "Hm. That does burn..." he muttered.

  "Yup. Just sit tight for a couple of minutes. This'll seal and sink in the pigments so they can't rub off."

  He nodded slowly, brows pinching together. Esme turned the dial on the machine and the beam intensified. Ashkan tensed. He inhaled sharply, instinctively resisting the urge to move. Shaye looked a little concerned but stayed quiet.

  The seconds ticked by in relative silence. Some ambient music played from an enchanted radio in the corner. Every few seconds, Esme would inch closer to check the angle of the beam. I wondered if it was just an excuse to be as close as possible. Her left hand rested on Ashkan's right forearm.

  "Doing okay?" she asked sweetly.

  "Mhm," he hummed.

  "All right, very good. Just another minute."

  Esme continued to hold the imprinter just above his elbow. Her fingers remained on his skin, tapping absentmindedly. I don't know why I couldn't look away from that. Shaye was now busy flipping through a magazine from a nearby stand, but I was still riveted to the scenario unfolding a few feet away from me. There was no particular reason to be so focused on Esme's hand and whether it would move or not, or why. Or, if it did move, what it meant. Or the warmth in the way she glanced at him. Especially considering her overall posture was friendly and non-threatening. My attention moved back and forth like a tennis ball, bouncing between the window, Ashkan, and Esme's face.

  Every now and then, I saw a fleeting hesitation or softness. Intentions veiled. Hidden, coy, casual interest. Then, I'd notice her eyes narrow slightly when he looked away. The way her expression would turn inwards, closing off into annoyance or discontent. Still, it all seemed so fluid that maybe I was just watching myself being overreactive. Maybe I was just seeing things.

  Ashkan took a breath, then joked, "I imagine this is what getting branded feels like."

  Esme threw her head back and laughed loudly. Her free hand moved up to grip his shoulder. "Ha! I'd imagine it's not far off."

  Something stirred within me at the sight. I squinted. It was more than just the second-hand embarrassment Esme was giving me. More than any mild incredulity or awkwardness. Now, the laughter and hand on Ashkan's shoulder were demanding my full attention. A combination of vague recognition and panic bubbled up in my chest.

  I struggled to put a name to it and the more I tried, the farther away it got. Hazy like mist around a ship in the night, dancing evasively. Just beyond my fingertips. I continued to watch the back and forth, replaying the last few minutes over in my mind. My eyes drifted over the shape of Ashkan's relaxed frame. His calm focus was a stark contrast to my racing mind. Leaning casually into the chair. Expression impassive, but for a tiny pinch between his eyebrows.

  My thoughts raced ahead of me, scrambling to form a logical connection. Why was this bothering me so much? It was beyond the potential of Ashkan being uncomfortable by it. Beyond a sense of protectiveness. Some type of awareness seemed to be tugging on my sleeve. The recognition flared up again, along with it an inkling of intuition, and then...realization. My thoughts suddenly unraveled like a ribbon in a strong wind.

  Oh. ...Oh.

  My heartbeat picked up. This feeling... It was similar to how I felt seeing Farrah and Luke together. That bizarre anger and resentment – coupled with anxiety and a sense of betrayal. The maelstrom of volatile emotions known only as jealousy. Jealousy... I tried to figure out why it was hitting me now, but was only overwhelmed by faint memories and scattered thoughts.

  She's just a tattoo artist! I likely won't even see her again after today! So why am I...?

  A-Am I seriously jealous...?

  I went stiff, silently repeating the question in my head. Trying to run it down, poke holes in it. It wouldn't budge. The feeling didn't go away, nor did it provide any explanation. I looked to Shaye, as if somehow she would have the answer. She'd have a perfect theory. If only this wasn't her close childhood friend I was thinking about. She'd probably slap me.

  I ran a hand through my hair, feeling tense. Was I just stressed? I hadn't slept well lately. Too much training, too much trouble... I definitely needed a vacation. Maybe I'm seeing all this wrong...

  Because if jealousy is what I'm feeling... If I actually am jealous... Then...

  That would mean... That some part of me wanted to be in Esme's position.

  Which would mean... I wanted to do something she was doing.

  Which...would mean...

  Shaye flipped a page, a stray curl falling across her eye. In contrast to my tumultuous contemplations, she appeared a picture of serenity. Innocently reading a magazine, legs crossed, resting her chin in her hand. Her eyes absently moved to me, noting the direction of my gaze. I blinked, realizing how obviously dumbstruck I must have looked. I watched her expression turn confused. But there was no indication that she was considering my internal crisis. All she did was give a small nod.

  But I couldn't return the gesture. My eyes flicked back to Ashkan, now able to place a name to the knot in my stomach. My heart continued to race. Because... This shouldn't have even been in question. No, this was absolutely crazy. I must have lost my mind. There was no way. Just no way.

  There is no way in hell.

  Do... Do I...?

  I mean, him...? Seriously?

  No. No, I don't.

  I can't. It can't happen. It's not going to happen.

  "Done!"

  I snapped out of my daze, just in time to see Esme smiling at Ashkan. He peered down at his arm. With the imprint complete, his star tattoo was permanent. Permanent and unmistakable – in solid black ink that shimmered slightly. Pointed and crisp. Our own insignia. He slowly curled and uncurled his hand into a fist.

  "Wow. Wow," he murmured. "Thank you. It's perfect."

  "Really?" Esme replied, practically squeaking. "Glad you like it! A piece of art for a powerful warrior. What could be better?"

  Ashkan sat up and stuck out his right arm, inspecting the tattoo up close. He mumbled another quiet expression of gratitude. Esme grinned ear-to-ear.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I kept my jaw shut and forced my face to remain neutral, unsure what I was supposed to say or feel now. The wheels in my head were still spinning. Questions flew past too quickly. Before I could even try to answer them, they disappeared like smoke. Lost without a trace.

  "Who's next?" Esme asked cheerfully, replacing her glove with a fresh one.

  I couldn't get any words out. Shaye glanced at me and must've interpreted my silence as anxiety.

  "I'll go," she volunteered before I could interject. She hopped off the bench and walked over to Esme's station, taking a seat in the plush armchair. With Shaye to focus on instead, Esme appeared as nonchalant as ever.

  I was left to my own devices as Ashkan admired his tattoo, replacing Shaye's spot on the bench beside me. I found it difficult to look at him. That just seemed to amplify whatever was going on.

  He soon turned to me. His gaze turned heavy and knowing. I saw him raise an eyebrow, searching my face. His expression quickly became concerned. I was too easy to read.

  "...You all right?" he asked quietly.

  "Yeah," I answered just as softly, nodding for good measure.

  "You look nervous.”

  "Just thinking," I said dismissively, waving a hand in the air. The gesture itself felt stiff and unnatural. Ashkan's eyes moved up and down my profile. I couldn't help but feel he was somehow piecing the situation together. I crossed and uncrossed my legs.

  His voice was gentle. "You've...been doing a lot of that lately."

  I was well aware. Although the last couple minutes had been really eye-opening. I kept my attention on Esme and Shaye, who were chatting idly, prepping Shaye's arm for the stencil. She was saying something about music. Her normal self – bright and friendly. This time, I didn't want to eavesdrop on their conversation. I could barely hear it over the thoughts swirling in my brain.

  "It's not bad. Really."

  I came back to the present. Ashkan's eyes were still on me. I met his gaze. Even that felt like too much. The slightest glimpse of our bond was sending another jolt through me. My fingers tensed in my lap.

  "Huh?" I uttered.

  "The machine. The imprinting," he explained. "It's more uncomfortable than painful. Don't worry."

  ...Oh. That. I'd nearly forgotten about the tattoo. It seemed so trivial in comparison to what I was feeling now. I pursed my lips, nodding. Ashkan observed me for a beat.

  "You can hold my hand if you want," he offered casually.

  My jaw fell open. He didn't laugh or smile belittlingly. It was a simple and sincere offer. I figured he hadn't meant anything by it other than friendliness. But it still piqued my emotions. Just those words – held out like an olive branch. So tempting. Almost too tempting.

  I shook my head. "I'm not a child, Ash. I'll be fine."

  An amused look flickered in his eyes. But he said nothing more.

  I took in a slow, deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Was this actually happening? Or just a mental break? The way I was feeling now was not...normal. It made no sense. It was so far removed from everything I was supposed to feel, or wanted to feel... It was new, unsettling, and unexplainable.

  And yet, the longer I sat there, the more sense it made. I'd long considered him my friend. An ally. A teammate. Someone to joke around with and confide in. But the line was...blurring. I'd grown too used to his company. To his charm, his quirks, his humanity. Like a magnet, we'd somehow gotten drawn together. My head spun.

  No. This can't happen. I can't think of him like that.

  It can't be.

  ...Can it?

  I let curiosity get the best of me. I stole a glance at Ashkan, hoping to find an answer. I wanted to understand what I was feeling. What it meant. How did he fit into all this? Something had changed, somewhere along the line; that much was clear. But what? When? How? And why?

  He caught my eye and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

  "No." I forced a half-hearted smile.

  He frowned. "If it's about the tattoo, you don't have to get it."

  I sat up straight. "No, I'm getting it! I want to."

  "Then...?"

  "I'm just thinking. About stuff."

  "What stuff?"

  "...Stuff stuff."

  He arched an eyebrow. "Stuff stuff."

  "Mhm."

  "Sounds fascinating." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Well, you know you have my ear. Anytime you need it."

  "...Thanks," I muttered, feeling a bit guilty.

  Ashkan didn't press any further. Instead, he turned his attention back to his tattoo, rotating his arm, inspecting every inch. His eyes gleamed with pride. It was a very him thing to do. As was getting a tattoo in the first place.

  "I can't wait for the others to see this," he said. "Ivahr will be so jealous."

  That word rang in my head. I tried to ignore the pang in my chest.

  Jealous. Of what? Esme's hand on his arm? Her casual touch? Her easy, flirtatious banter?

  ...Envious.

  What does it all mean? And am I really going to sit here and stew over it for the next half-hour?

  "It does look really nice," I replied quietly.

  Ashkan smiled at me – the kind that used to be so rare from him. "It'll suit you, too."

  My stomach flipped. I gave a quick grin in return. "Hope so."

  Esme wasn't nearly as chatty with me as she'd been with Ashkan and Shaye. Maybe it was just because I was quiet the whole time. She kept asking if I was okay or if I was too scared. It was kind of annoying. But the pain was manageable, and I was more preoccupied with what was running through my head. The whole ordeal was over fairly quickly, and she gave me the same spiel about caring for the tattoo and keeping it clean.

  Once we paid – it was way cheaper than I thought it'd be – and thanked her, we headed out the door. A light, cool breeze swept past. The sun was high, casting the street in a bright glow. I breathed in the fresh air. It felt good to be outside again.

  Shaye pulled the shop's door closed behind us. She turned back to Ashkan, eyes wide. "Well. What fun it is being spontaneous."

  He laughed. "I can't argue."

  "The tattoos really do look nice, now that I can see them," she added. "Perhaps I should start listening to you more."

  "You should," he quipped. "I have a great idea twice a year, at least. And this is definitely one of them."

  "We'll see." She paused and checked her watch. "I suppose we should head home now."

  "Probably a good idea," he agreed.

  I stayed quiet. My mind was still racing.

  "Feeling better, Brielle?" he asked, glancing at me.

  "Yep." I nodded and hoped I sounded convincing.

  He squinted, unconvinced, before studying my face again. "...Okay."

  I didn't meet his eyes. If I did, I was certain he'd see right through me. And the last thing I needed was for him to realize what was going on in my head. He'd probably freak out. Or worse – laugh. I was having a hard enough time with this myself.

  I sighed inwardly.

  God, how did I end up in this mess?

  As if the tattoo itself wasn't enough, the emotional upheaval was exhausting. By the time I returned to Earth, all I wanted to do was go upstairs and crash. I didn't want to think anymore. Not about what I'd experienced, not about how to process it, and certainly not about Ashkan. I didn't want to think about him and that stupid tattoo. Or him and his stupid eyes. Or his stupid jokes, stupid smile, stupid everything.

  "I'm home!" I called out, opening the front door.

  "You're back a bit late," Dad said. He stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing some dishes. Mom was next to him, wiping down the counter.

  "Yeah," I replied, stepping inside. "I, uh...got a little sidetracked."

  Mom eyed me. "With what?"

  "I, um..." I hesitated. Now that I was about to say it out loud, it was weird. "I got matching tattoos with Shaye and Ashkan."

  They both stopped and stared at me.

  "...You what?" Mom finally said.

  "What'd you get?" Dad questioned, grinning.

  "An arrangement of three stars. It's like a constellation," I explained, gesturing. "On the inside of our elbows. We wanted something to represent our team. It's like an insignia. Or a symbol. For unity. And friendship."

  "How nice!" Dad exclaimed. "When did you guys decide that?"

  "Today," I laughed.

  "Well, what inspired it?" Mom inquired, raising her eyebrows.

  "Ashkan, mostly," I admitted. "He's been wanting one for years. This was his excuse to finally get it."

  "That's him," Mom commented, chuckling.

  "I'll show you next time you're in Emiarhia, Dad," I said, turning to him.

  "I'd love to see it," he responded. "I'm always glad to hear when you three do something fun together."

  "It was a good bonding experience," I joked.

  "I'm sure."

  I glanced at Mom. She had a hint of a smile on her face. "Well, if it makes you happy, then I'm happy."

  I smiled back. "Thanks, Mom."

  I left the kitchen, walked through the living room and took the stairs two at a time. The moment I reached my room, I threw myself onto my bed, landing face-first against the pillows. I exhaled deeply and let my body sink into the mattress. Finally, a chance to breathe. To be completely alone.

  I knew it wasn't the best idea to ignore all the new thoughts and feelings running through my head, but I couldn't deal with them now. Not in the moment. Maybe not ever. It would just make things more complicated. More messy. More awkward. More confusing.

  Besides, I had a party that night I needed to prepare for.

  "Hey, YEAH!"

  Joel's microphone screeched not even one second after he sang a few notes. He recoiled and winced.

  Spencer clapped her hands over her ears. "Feedback, babe! Feedback!"

  "Sorry, it's new!" he exclaimed, readjusting the mic stand.

  Him and the rest of his bandmates were busy setting up in my backyard, a safe distance away from the pool, near the wall of the house. Their equipment was scattered across the deck. Guitar cases, amps, cables, microphones, and more. I did my best to help them haul everything over.

  I checked my phone. December 31, about seven-thirty. My friends would be arriving in just over an hour. A slight breeze swept through the backyard. String lights and lanterns had been strung up on the patio and surrounding trees. The inside of the house was complete with drinks, snacks, music, and a lack of parents. They left soon after I returned from training to celebrate New Year's at a fancy hotel downtown with their friends. They told me they wouldn't be back until tomorrow. Obviously, I had their permission to throw the party, so long as it didn't get too rowdy – meaning no drugs, alcohol, or anything else illegal. It was only intended to be a fun get-together with friends and classmates. Nothing wild.

  "How's it sound now, Chamomile?" Joel asked, playing a riff on his guitar.

  I gave him a thumbs-up. "Much better!"

  "Rad. Thanks!" He strummed a few chords to test out the notes.

  "Are you sure you guys don't want me to pay you for agreeing to this?" I asked.

  "No way," he said, adjusting his backwards cap. "A sick party with good people and free snacks? Sounds perfect. Right, guys?"

  His bandmates murmured in agreement.

  "We'll just take any tips and donations we can," he added.

  I chuckled. "Got it."

  "Besides, we're happy to play somewhere other than a dive bar or basement. That's where we're used to performing."

  "And I appreciate it," I told him.

  "Hey, we should give you an honorary title," Joel suggested.

  "Like what?"

  "Hmm..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Chloe, patron saint of rockers and partygoers everywhere."

  I laughed. "That's a mouthful. Maybe we can work on that."

  He smirked. "We can workshop it later. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some sound checks to finish."

  "By all means," I said, turning on my heel.

  I headed back inside the house and into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and double-checked that there was enough food and drink. My parents had gone all-out; they stocked the kitchen with chips, crackers, veggies, dips, soda, fruit, candy, pretzels, juice, and more. We were set. I still couldn't decide if I was more thankful or embarrassed by my parents' insistence to ensure their daughter could be as socially acceptable as possible.

  Shortly after eight o'clock, the doorbell rang. It was Niki, Reese, Lauren, and Jess, alongside a handful of other mutual friends.

  "You guys made it!" I greeted, throwing open the front door.

  "We made it!" Lauren cheered, stepping inside. She held up a grocery bag. "I brought some drinks."

  "And I brought dessert," Reese announced, holding up a tray of cupcakes.

  "Aw, you didn't have to," I told them. "There's a giant table in the kitchen of food. Help yourself."

  "Sweet," Jess said, rubbing her hands together. "I'm starving."

  The group followed me into the house. I could hear the distant thrumming of Acid Punch's music playing in the backyard. A few more people trickled in. By eight-thirty, there were about fifteen guests. By nine, everybody I'd invited was here. Well, everybody except for one.

  "Did Luke text you back yet?" Spencer asked, nudging me.

  I checked my phone. No messages. "Nope."

  "He's probably just caught up," Niki replied. "Give him some time."

  "Yeah," I agreed, putting my phone back into my pocket. "Hopefully he shows up soon."

  "You know how it is," Reese said. "Maybe he slept in and forgot."

  "I'm sure that's all it is," Spencer added.

  They were right, of course. It was New Year's Eve. Luke was a popular guy with, in my eyes, tons of friends. It made sense he'd be invited to a lot of different parties. Maybe he just got distracted or lost track of time. But that didn't stop me from staring at the front door every few minutes, hoping he'd walk through.

  As the hours wore on, I found myself less worried and more disappointed. There was a pit in my stomach that grew heavier with each passing minute. Every time someone new walked through the door, my heart sank a little lower. I was checking my phone constantly. I kept reminding myself that I shouldn't care so much. But I couldn't help it. I was so wrapped up in why Luke wasn't here that I barely noticed the growing masses of people.

  By ten, the house was more crowded than I'd intended. At least thirty people were in attendance. Most were gathered in the living room, dancing to Acid Punch's music, laughing, talking, and generally having a great time. Others were scattered around the kitchen and dining room, snacking on food and playing games. Some were outside, enjoying the fresh air. I'd given everyone the run-down of where to find things, what was available, and so on.

  "I didn't realize so many people would show up," I admitted, squeezing between a group of classmates.

  "Why not?" Spencer questioned.

  "I'm not sure. It just feels...surreal, I guess. I definitely didn't personally invite half of these people."

  "It's your house. They're here for you," she replied.

  I snorted. "We both know that's not true."

  "It's true for the people who care about you."

  "Always the sweet talker," I teased.

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You know it."

  I scanned the room again, hoping to spot Luke. I was starting to think he wouldn't show up. Not that I was bitter. Of course not. How could I be?

  "You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Spencer said.

  My face warmed. "Maybe."

  "He'll show up. Just relax and enjoy yourself!" she insisted, patting my arm. "It's a brand new year. You've got a lot to look forward to."

  "Yeah, I know," I replied, giving a short sigh. "You're right."

  "Of course I'm right."

  I smiled. "Thanks."

  My hands wandered down to the bottom of my shirt, fiddling with the hem. I couldn't help but feel a little underdressed compared to Spencer. She'd shown up wearing a dark grey, cropped sweatshirt, an asymmetrical, blue sequin mini skirt, fishnets, and black, heeled combat boots. I was in a long-sleeved, black and lime green graphic shirt tucked into dark jeans. Not a big deal, but a stark contrast.

  "Are you sure I don't need to wear something else?" I asked.

  "Why?" she queried, looking me over. "You look cute."

  "Okay, but you're a fashion icon," I replied, gesturing to her outfit.

  "Oh, please," she scoffed. "I'm just dressed for a party. And you are, too."

  I glanced down. "This is dressed for a party?"

  "Well, it's more casual, but that doesn't mean it's bad," she clarified. "You've got a very chill, but still put-together vibe going on. It's not about what you're wearing. It's how you wear it."

  I raised my eyebrows. "That's a very wise thing to say."

  "Thanks," she laughed. "I saw it in a movie once. But, seriously–" She grabbed my shoulders. "Stop overthinking. You are gonna be fine. More than fine, even. You're a damn catch, and Luke already knows it."

  My face heated up.

  She squeezed my shoulders. "I love you. Trust me."

  I laughed. "Well, when you put it like that..."

  As another song faded out, Joel spoke into his microphone, "All right, folks, we're gonna take a little break. Grab some water and we'll be back soon. In the meantime, enjoy these tunes; a playlist curated by yours truly."

  He fiddled with his laptop and a familiar beat filled the air. I was a little concerned about leaving the back door open because of the temperature, but with so many people inside, keeping warm wasn't going to be a problem. Joel played a mix of classic and modern party songs. It was the perfect blend of pop and rock, upbeat and fun. I never thought I'd see the day when a party was taking place in my house. And I didn't dislike the change.

  Spencer left briefly to go chat with her boyfriend. A few classmates I hadn't spoken to in a while came up to me to say hi. There was some light conversation, compliments on the house, questions about school. Pretty basic small talk. Besides that, I was buzzing around like a madwoman making sure everyone was safe and content. I double-checked the food table, made sure the front door was open, and tried my best to clean up any trash I saw. With each passing hour, the atmosphere felt a little more frantic.

  When eleven o'clock struck, the house was crowded with almost twice as many guests as before. I hardly recognized anybody anymore. A sick, uneasy feeling gathered in my chest. I was staring at an undeniably large party and it was my responsibility. How did something so great start to feel so anxious? I hated to admit it, but I was nervous. Sure, Spencer was doing her best to calm me down, but her confidence alone couldn't soothe me. I wasn't mentally prepared to play hostess to such a swarm of students. When I snuck upstairs to my bedroom for a breather, nobody even noticed I was gone. And that only made me feel worse.

  I flopped onto the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands, breathing deeply. I just wanted a break. Somewhere quiet. Secluded. Anywhere. I'll be back in five minutes, I promised myself. I'll go downstairs and rejoin the party like nothing happened. It's fine. It'll be fine. A few extra people showed up, so what? That's normal. It happens. It's a party. Nothing bad is going to happen.

  The view from the top of the staircase only affirmed my worries. Everything was in such disarray that I had to just stand there and stare. The music was blaring at max volume. Voices and laughs filled the air. Piles of coats and bags gathered in every corner. The lights had been dimmed. People were moving past one another as they weaved between rooms. Most were drinking. I knew I couldn't assume the premises had remained alcohol-free. What was meant to be a controlled environment had erupted into a massive celebration.

  I was so distracted by the chaos that I almost didn't notice him standing in the entryway.

  His eyes lifted, meeting mine. I stared at him for a moment.

  It took me a second to piece together that it was really him.

  Finally.

  I descended the stairs as quickly as I could without tripping. "Luke! You're here!"

  He smiled brilliantly. "Yeah. Sorry I'm late."

  I ushered him out of the doorway. "No, don't apologize; come in. I'm glad you made it."

  "Thanks," he said, stuffing his hands into his black, slightly baggy jeans. His crew neck sweatshirt was patterned with thin, vertical stripes in shades of turquoise, blue, dark green, yellow, and white, all with various widths. The whole look was slightly pedestrian for him, but honestly really stylish. Let's just say it didn't do anything to lower my odds of heart palpitations.

  "It's a bit packed in here. I'm sorry," I told him, almost yelling over the noise. "I know I talked about keeping it chill. So... I don't know how this happened."

  He craned his neck towards the living room. "It looks like a frat party exploded. That's for sure." I winced. His grey-blue eyes flicked back to me. "Is it too much? We can shut it down if you want."

  I blinked in surprise. "What?"

  "Do you want to send everyone home?" he asked sincerely. "It's your house. If it's getting out of control, you're allowed to stop it."

  I chewed my lip. How lame would I be if I kicked everyone out just because it was a little rowdy? Spence would drag me for sure. My palms felt sweaty. My heart was racing. Then I caught a brief glance at Luke. He watched me patiently, waiting for a response. The corners of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. God, why was he always so thoughtful?

  I shook my head. "Nah. I'm okay."

  "Well, if you're positive," he replied with a nod. "But I'm prepared to fight my way through drunk teenagers if needed. At your command."

  I laughed. "I appreciate it."

  Spencer suddenly appeared at my side. "Oh, awesome! You're here!"

  "Heya, Spencer," Luke greeted.

  "Hey!" she replied, flashing him a grin. "I got the Times Square ball drop playing on the TV. One hour left!"

  "Sweet," he remarked, glancing at the screen.

  "Do you want a drink or something?" I asked. "There's plenty of snacks, too."

  "Yeah, sure," he answered.

  Spencer led the way into the kitchen, parting a path through the crowd. We squeezed our way through, weaving around bodies and limbs. The kitchen and living room were equally packed. It almost seemed like half the students at Oceanside were in my house. And it was nearly midnight.

  "I'm gonna go check up on the band," Spencer announced, pointing towards the back door. "Make sure they've got all they need. You guys stay put, 'kay?"

  "Gotcha, thank you," I confirmed.

  She winked and headed off.

  "So," Luke began, turning to me. He took a sip of his ginger ale.

  I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from a nearby container. "So."

  "How are you doing?" he asked.

  "Oh, uh... Fine," I answered, biting into the cookie. "Just overwhelmed. Not really expecting to have so many people here."

  He nodded. "I figured."

  "What about you?"

  "Me? Great," he replied, leaning against the counter. "I was running late 'cause I was helping my uncle with something. Got caught up. Sorry."

  "Don't worry about it," I told him, waving a hand.

  We fell silent, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The two of us stood there, surrounded by loud, energetic classmates. Somehow, I didn't feel as anxious as earlier. Maybe it was Luke's presence. I felt grounded. And he seemed perfectly at ease with the chaos. I was surprised at how natural this felt. We weren't even talking; just standing in the kitchen, watching everyone move around, laughing and drinking. Like in our own little bubble.

  The only thing that kept me from relaxing entirely (other than the noise) was the thought of our conversation on Christmas. 'Let's put a pin in it', he'd said. 'Until things become clearer.' Those words echoed in my mind. Luke didn't exactly say he had feelings for me, but he also didn't not say that. I interpreted the conversation more as the admission of the potential for feelings rather than an outright declaration. At least, I knew how I was feeling. I'd come to terms with it weeks ago. It was obvious, now. Obvious and terrifying.

  My impulse was to bring it up to see if he'd come to any sort of conclusion in the six days since I'd last seen him. But I knew it was too soon. I knew I had to give him more time. It didn't matter how much I wanted to hear him say those words. He had to be ready to admit them. I wanted him to be honest, whether good or bad.

  "You got any New Year's resolutions?" he asked, startling me.

  "Oh, uh..." I stammered, trying to refocus. "Not really."

  "Come on, there has to be one," he insisted, smirking.

  I thought for a moment. The only thing that came to mind was wanting to survive whatever Emiarhia was going to throw at me. That was kind of morbid. Definitely not what he was looking for. ...Or should know about.

  "Maybe just... Keep trying to get out of my comfort zone," I settled. "Like, try new things and all."

  "Oh, yeah? What sorts of new things?" he questioned, his voice tinged with amusement.

  I gave a slight shrug. "Anything. Just, anything that makes me happy."

  He laughed softly. "Sounds good. I might have to do the same thing."

  I smiled. "What about you? Any resolutions?"

  "Nah, not really," he said, shaking his head. "I'll probably just try to focus on school. I've got a lot going on."

  "Ah, yes," I teased. "Very important. Very mature."

  "Thank you, thank you," he joked, giving a mock bow. "I try."

  Luke and I hung out in the kitchen for a while longer. I didn't plan on shirking my hostess duties entirely, but a break was very much needed. And, luckily, no one was bothering us. Clearly the appeal of a teenager's house wasn't the host. Our conversation flowed naturally. It always did. Laughing and joking with him eased my nerves. Before I knew it, midnight was basically here.

  "Damn, a few more minutes," I realized.

  "Yeah. Time flies," he chuckled.

  "Oh! Oooh! Not much longer now!" Spencer exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen. "Come on! Let's go watch!"

  Luke and I followed her into the living room. There wasn't any space left on the furniture, so we squeezed ourselves between a group of people. Joel and the rest of his bandmates soon joined us. The anticipation in the air was palpable. I checked my phone. Just two more minutes.

  The giant TV in the living room showed various vantage points of Times Square. The entire scene was alive, packed with cheerful people eager to ring in the new year. My mind wandered. Going out in the city with such massive crowds had always sounded daunting, but the joy of so many people felt contagious. It must be fun. ...Or a hellscape.

  "All right, everyone! One minute left!" Joel declared. "Get your champagne bottles ready!"

  I shoved my phone in my back pocket. Standing elbow-to-elbow amongst the crowd, I turned to Luke. "Humans are so weird. Why do we do this?"

  "As a gesture of hope, perhaps," he suggested. "The start of a new year is a marker. The world can end tomorrow, or the universe can expand indefinitely, but right now, for a moment, we're here. And sometimes you need to celebrate the small things."

  I stared at him, lips parted in awe. That...was genuinely beautiful.

  He noticed my reaction and chuckled. "What? I can't be funny and wise?"

  I let out a laugh, trying to ignore how close we were standing. "You're just full of surprises."

  At that moment, Joel shouted, "Thirty seconds, folks! Speak now or forever hold your regrets!"

  Somehow, everyone crammed even closer together. We took up pretty much every free square foot of flooring. In the crowd, I stood pressed up against Luke's chest. I laughed awkwardly, trying to give him more room, but only ended up squished between him and a random senior on my right. Luke wasn't complaining, though. I craned my neck to peer up at him. His head slowly tilted, eyes falling downwards. I felt his hand move up to rest between my shoulder blades, helping me stay upright. Being tall didn't make it easier to avoid collision in the mob. It was the tangle of feet and legs that made maneuvering difficult.

  Luke suddenly lowered his head, bringing his mouth next to my ear. "Hey. This okay?"

  I turned my head in slight confusion and was met face-to-face with him. Our eyes locked. Goosebumps. I nodded without hesitation. This wasn't a big deal. Or it shouldn't be.

  "TEN!"

  Our gazes held.

  "NINE!"

  I fought the urge to hold my breath.

  "EIGHT!"

  Maybe it was just the commotion of the crowd.

  "SEVEN!"

  But was his face getting closer to mine?

  "SIX!"

  Or was I getting closer to his?

  "FIVE!"

  Luke spoke, "I... Can I tell you something?"

  "FOUR!"

  The stupid impulse to answer with, 'I don't know, can you?' flashed in my brain. I quickly disregarded it and answered, "...Of course."

  "THREE!"

  He took a breath. "I have a good feeling about this year."

  "TWO!"

  I smiled. "Me too."

  "ONE!"

  If this was a movie, I would've leaned in and kissed him. But I couldn't bring myself to do that. It wasn't right. Not yet, at least. I didn't want to make a move without knowing how he felt.

  The room exploded with cheers. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

  A flurry of movement surrounded us. People were jumping, hugging, kissing. The band kicked off another playlist of music. Luke and I didn't move. Our faces were still close. I wasn't sure what to do. My heart pounded wildly. The world didn't exist outside of us. For a split second, I wondered if I'd dreamed the last five hours. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe the party had never happened. Maybe I was alone in my bedroom, dreaming about what the year ahead would hold.

  Then, Luke's hand brushed my cheek. My heart stuttered. I blinked in surprise. He gave a soft laugh, almost unnoticeable under the blaring music. Slowly, his face began to lower towards mine. My breathing hitched at the sight of the gentle, yet unmistakable intention in his eyes. My mind went blank. This was actually happening. He was actually–

  CRASH!

  I gasped and jolted away from Luke, startled by the deafening sound. It was a crash and a boom and a bang. A huge noise. My head snapped to the source. Everyone froze and stared, unsure of how to react. My eyes widened. A chill washed over me. Oh no. Leaving Luke behind, I elbowed my way through the crowd and towards the kitchen.

  Someone had knocked over the bowl of punch from the island counter, which had shattered against the wood floor. Shards of glass and red liquid were splashed in all directions. Fuming, I looked up to see the culprit standing on the counter, solo cup in hand.

  It was Ivy, one of Farrah's best friends – the latter of which was standing nearby. The rest of that clique was hanging around as well. I knew for a fact I hadn't invited any of them.

  "What the fuck are you doing?!" I exclaimed, glaring daggers at her.

  She shrugged, taking a sip. "I... Oops."

  "Are you kidding me?! Get off the fucking counter!" I demanded.

  "Why?" she scoffed, stepping down anyway. "You've probably got like, thirty other crystal bowls. Chill."

  "No, I don't! This was my grandma's!" I snapped. "And it's ruined now, so thank you."

  Ivy rolled her eyes. "Why'd you put it out, then?"

  I couldn't even think of an answer. The shock of the incident left me speechless. All I could do was stand there and stare, my face twisted in frustration. She didn't even have the decency to act apologetic.

  Farrah, meanwhile, watched the exchange with a smirk. "Ivy, don't listen to her. It's not a big deal. She's just throwing a fit because you interrupted her moment with her little boyfriend."

  I clenched my jaw, my body going tense. "Shut up, Farrah. Go home."

  "I'll go when I'm ready," she replied, shrugging.

  "No, you'll go right now," I insisted.

  "Or what?" she laughed.

  "Or I'll call the cops," I threatened.

  "You won't do that," she replied. "Because then everyone here would get busted. And, oh no! That would be a terrible stain on your reputation."

  I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. She was right. I wasn't going to get my parents in legal trouble. I hated to admit it, but she was a step ahead.

  "Oh, and speaking of reputation," she began, feigning casual boredom, "how is the whole 'popular' thing working out for you?"

  My brow furrowed. "What?"

  "You moved schools and changed everything about yourself." She crossed her arms. "You wanted to be popular. Did you get what you wanted?"

  "Why do you care?"

  "I'm just curious. Do you feel important now? How does it feel, finally being part of the 'in' crowd? To finally be accepted?"

  I didn't respond.

  "Because it feels a little pathetic, if you ask me," she added, giving a shrug. "You were such a loser back in Minnesota. Now, look at you. You're still the same old boring Chloe. Except, now you're just an attention whore. A desperate nobody with a god complex."

  My mouth went dry. "How do you know about Minnesota?"

  She huffed, exasperated. "I don't need to know everything about you to know who you are. But I suppose you just confirmed it. So, go ahead, keep pretending like people want you around. Keep pretending like you can make yourself into someone likable."

  My eyes fell, and my gaze focused on the puddle of punch, cherry red and sticky. I felt the weight of several pairs of eyes. My ears were ringing. Farrah's words echoed in my mind, a constant taunting loop. I felt nauseous. I'd never wanted to be the centre of attention, and yet here I was, the entire room's focus.

  "Hey," Spencer spoke up, appearing at my side. "What's going on?"

  "Just talking," Farrah remarked, nonchalant.

  Spencer looked to me, waiting for an explanation. But I couldn't speak. What was I supposed to say? That Farrah had just read me like a book?

  "It was an accident," Ivy cut in. "I fell."

  "Okay, that's bullshit," Spencer dismissed, glaring at the both of them. "You'd better leave. This party is over."

  Farrah laughed and shook her head. "You've got a lot of nerve, telling me what to do."

  Spencer ignored her, instead turning to the rest of the party. "Everybody out! We're done here! You have these lunatics to thank."

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some people moved immediately, but others remained, clearly confused. A few students had their phones out, no doubt filming. Joel walked over to the stereo and turned it off. The music stopped, and the noise died down.

  "Seriously, get out!" Spencer ordered, herding people towards the front door. Joel and Luke started following her lead. "Party's over! Thanks for coming! Call an Uber if you're drunk! Get out!"

  Slowly, the group dissipated. The room emptied, and I watched Farrah and her friends walk out the door, but not before shooting me glares. Once the last guest left, I let out a shaky breath.

  "Holy shit," Spencer muttered, looking at me. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," I lied.

  "That was really fucked up," Joel remarked from beside her.

  "Yeah, it was." Luke eyed me cautiously. "You good?"

  I couldn't look at him. "Uh-huh." I grabbed a broom from the closet and began sweeping the broken glass. "Sorry you guys had to see that."

  "Don't be sorry," Joel told me.

  "You don't have anything to apologize for," Spencer added.

  I paused and glanced up. All three of them wore concerned expressions. I knew they meant well, but their concern made me kind of uncomfortable. I didn't want them thinking I couldn't handle myself.

  "Well, thanks for, uh, for helping me kick everybody out," I said, giving an awkward chuckle. "Really, I appreciate it."

  Spencer waved a dismissive hand. "We've got your back. No problem."

  "I think I'm gonna clean this up, and then, um... Maybe just go to bed," I decided.

  "We'll stay and help," Joel offered.

  "Oh, no, no, you guys should go," I insisted, gesturing to the door. "It's fine, really. I'm almost done."

  "Chloe, come on," Spencer said gently. "It's cool. We'll help. This, uh, this isn't the only mess around."

  "We'll have this place back to normal in no time!" Joel chimed in.

  Spencer glanced over her shoulder. "Luke, go find some garbage bags, will you?"

  He nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Joel began collecting the plates and cups strewn about everywhere. I let out a heavy sigh, continuing to sweep.

  "Hey," Spencer said quietly. "Forget about those bitches, okay? They're not worth your time."

  "I know," I mumbled.

  "No, seriously. Like, we should find their Instagram accounts and post a bunch of anonymous hate comments."

  "Please don't," I laughed. "I think that's bullying."

  She giggled. "I won't. But, you know, I would."

  I smiled a little. "Thanks, Spence."

  Luke returned with some garbage bags. The four of us cleaned up the rest of the house, putting things back where they belonged. After gathering every shard of glass into a bag, Spencer and I mopped up the spilled punch. Joel and Luke took care of the garbage. With their help, the work didn't take long. I made sure to set aside the bag of glass after realizing I could likely bring it with me to Emiarhia later and use magic to fix it. That way, my parents would never know.

  By one a.m., the house was spotless. I walked Spencer, Joel, and Luke to the door.

  "Well, happy New Year," Joel joked.

  "Happy New Year," Spencer laughed.

  "Yeah, happy New Year," I said. "Thank you guys for helping me clean up."

  "You're welcome," Spencer replied. "I had a lot of fun. And, you know, we're not gonna let Farrah ruin that."

  "Agreed," Joel added.

  I nodded, glancing at Luke. "Thanks."

  "Of course," he said, giving a half-smile.

  Spencer glanced between him and me. "Well, we should probably go."

  "Uh, yeah, it's late," Joel remarked, looking at Luke. "Let's go."

  The two of them said goodbye and headed towards Joel's car. I waved and watched them go. When the lights faded into the distance, I looked back to Luke, who was leaning against the doorframe.

  "Well," he began, "that was eventful."

  I bit back a laugh. "Yeah. That's a word for it."

  He scanned the room. "Everything back to normal? We didn't miss anything?"

  "Mhm. My mom's gonna kill me about that bowl, though. I feel like this party wasn't really a good idea."

  He pursed his lips. "...I'm sorry."

  "Don't be," I dismissed.

  He stood upright. "Okay, uh... Well... Goodnight."

  "Yeah, see ya," I murmured, crossing my arms.

  He turned, his back facing me. "...Actually, wait." He quickly faced me again, an unsettled expression on his face. "Before I go... Can I ask you something?"

  "Um, sure," I replied, surprised.

  "You might not like it."

  "Uh... Then, no. I mean– Maybe. Try me," I rambled.

  He laughed lightly, adjusting his posture. "Right. So, uh, Farrah was saying some really cruel things."

  I sighed, twiddling my thumbs. "...Yeah."

  "But, um," he continued, clearing his throat, "I was wondering... Did she, uh, did she have a point? When she was talking about your last school? And... That you felt the need to…reinvent yourself?"

  My eyes widened. "I... Um, I mean... Maybe..."

  His brow furrowed slightly. "You never talk about it."

  "I don't really like to," I admitted. "I didn't have a good time, and that school is part of the past. It doesn't matter anymore."

  "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?" he questioned, his voice soft. "Because we can talk if you're feeling upset. If you're feeling like she brought back any bad memories."

  My heart seized for a moment. What could I say to that? My brain was moving too fast yet too slow at the same time. Memories flooded my mind, mixing with the events of the party. None of this was supposed to happen. Maybe I really was craving acceptance more than I thought. In Minnesota, I wasn't just alone. I was lonely. A lot of the time, I didn't even feel like a person. I was a ghost. Not good, nor bad. So, naturally, when I moved here, I made an effort to change that. I wanted to rewrite history. I needed to be different. I couldn't live that way anymore. I hated how insecure I'd been at my old school.

  "You don't have to," Luke added hurriedly. "I mean, you can tell me or not. Whatever you want."

  I stared at him. Part of me wanted to tell him everything, to be totally honest. Just to see how he'd react. But the other part was terrified of doing that. Because that would require divulging into my extremely embarrassing, extremely personal past. Then what would he think of me? Would he just pity me?

  "It was hard," I mumbled, "when I lived in Minnesota."

  His eyes were gentle. "How was it hard?"

  My chest tightened, but the words came tumbling out before I could think. "I was really lonely and left out, and I felt like I was the problem. Like I was innately unlikable. I didn't feel like anyone wanted me around. And it sucked, because all I wanted to do was make friends."

  Luke didn't say anything, clearly unsure of what to say. Maybe I'd shocked him into silence. We held eye contact, and I felt guilty. Everything I said painted a pathetic picture. But then, he gave a light shrug.

  "I can relate."

  "You can?" I echoed. "To what?"

  "Not feeling likable," he explained, his voice quiet.

  "Wh–? How?" I blurted out. "You're not unlikable at all."

  He raised an eyebrow, looking at me. "Well, everyone our age is trying to figure out who they are. And, a lot of the time, people try to fit in a certain mold. It's easier than putting in the work to find yourself. So, we find pseudo-happiness in sameness, surround ourselves with people who are basically more of the same, and boost our egos by othering whoever's even slightly different. Textbook self-preservation tactic."

  I didn't reply for several seconds. All I could do was stare at him, frozen in place. I hadn't expected such a rationalization. A statement that made complete sense of the world around us. The conformity spiral.

  "Um, not to say that everyone is like that," Luke clarified, laughing a little. "Just, you know, in my experience."

  "Are you...sure you're human? And not a wizard or something?" I asked, stifling a laugh.

  "Hah, I'm sure. I just pay attention to how people act. That's all. And..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I hope, at least, you're comfortable being yourself around me."

  I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. "I am. It makes a lot of sense, actually. I just... I don't think I've ever heard anyone put it so eloquently, like, ever."

  "Oh, well..." He gave a shy chuckle, his cheeks turning pink. "Um, thanks. Sorry, I'm not sure where that came from."

  "No, don't be sorry. That was really cool. Inspiring." I smiled. "And it kind of made me feel less alone."

  He mirrored my expression. "Good. Well, you're not alone. Not while I'm around."

  A weird feeling flickered in my chest. An interesting mixture of gratitude and warmth. "...Thanks, Luke. And, I'm sorry we keep having these moments of difficulty where one of us needs comforting. I promise it's not intentional."

  He gave a melodic laugh. "No worries. It's probably just fate telling us we're supposed to be friends."

  My smile faded. Just friends. Of course. That dreaded word. Stop that, I reminded myself. You have bigger issues on your plate. Now's not the time to be selfish.

  "Anyway," Luke continued, "it's really late, and I should let you get to bed. But, I'm here. Whenever you need me, okay? Whether you want to talk about anything, or... You know, whatever. Anytime."

  "Thanks," I replied, forcing a small smile. "Right back at ya."

  "I know. Goodnight, Chloe. Sleep well. Happy New Year."

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Words got stuck in my throat and refused to budge. Luke stepped off the porch and headed down the driveway. I told myself to call out, to stop him, to thank him, to... What was I supposed to say, though?

  "Happy New Year," I mumbled, hoping the wind would carry it all the way to him.

  I closed the front door, leaned against it, and slowly slid down to the floor. My mind raced with all the things I wanted to say. By the time I finally built up the courage to do it, Luke was long gone. Instead, I sat there, alone, wrestling with my thoughts. And I couldn't explain it, but all I wanted to do was start the entire day over. Fix everything.

  Well… At least I managed to fix the punch bowl before my parents came home.