Silver barely managed to escape the dance floor before her carefully maintained composure began cracking like ice under pressure. Weston's words had left her feeling hollow and exposed, his calculated smirk clinging to her consciousness like smoke that refused to dissipate no matter how much she tried to breathe it away. And then there had been Eli—watching from across the ballroom with that steady, unrelenting focus that made her feel simultaneously seen and completely transparent.
She wove through clusters of elegantly dressed students, navigating between conversations about academic achievements and weekend plans while trying to catch her breath in the overheated atmosphere of Yale's premier social event. The crystal chandeliers overhead sparkled with too much brilliance, their light feeling sharp enough to cut through whatever remained of her emotional defenses.
Americus materialized beside her with the supernatural timing that marked all of her social interventions.
