I notice the room change before I see her.
It’s subtle. A shift. Like when air pressure drops and your ears don’t pop, but your body still knows something is coming.
People straighten. Voices lower. Laughter thins out, like someone turned the volume knob just a little to the left.
I’m holding a glass I’ve already forgotten to drink from. My fingers are cold. Or numb. Hard to tell.
Ethan’s hand is at the small of my back. Familiar. Anchoring. And then it stills.
That’s when I know.
I look up.
Celeste doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t need to. She steps into the space like it was always hers and everyone else is just borrowing it for the evening.
She looks exactly how I remember her. Which is annoying. Which feels unfair. Like time didn’t dare to touch her without permission.
El
