STELLA
The hallways feel colder than they should, though I know it’s not the air. It’s me. The heat’s all in my chest, crowding my lungs with something restless, like every step is pushing me toward a fire I’m not sure I’ll survive.
Nikolai doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. His presence is loud enough — the tap of his shoes, the careless whistle he doesn’t finish, the shadow he makes sure stays a step behind mine. He’s letting me lead, even though we both know he could walk these corridors blindfolded.
I hate the quiet. After the chaos of the ballroom, the silence feels staged, like even the walls are waiting.
“Where would he go?” I mutter.
Nikolai tilts his head. “If I were Viktor? Away from the crowd. Somewhere he doesn’t have to hear whispers about his father.”
“That’s too ob
