The music from the ballroom dripped through the golden halls — light, glittering, and painfully perfect. The School for Good always threw their galas like it was a fairy tale, and tonight was no different. You were laughing at something one of the Everboys said, your hand brushing his arm as you spoke.

From the shadows by the staircase, Hort saw it all.

He didn’t mean to stare, didn’t even realize he’d been standing there with his drink halfway to his lips, but the moment he saw the guy lean a little too close, that familiar, unwanted spark lit in his chest. Jealousy.

He took a slow breath, jaw tightening. Why do you care? he told himself. You weren’t his. You never were. But that didn’t stop the sting from settling in anyway.

The boy said something else, and you smiled. Hort rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Oh yeah, real funny, mate. Bet you’ve never fought a stymph before.”

He pushed away from the wall, dark cloak brushing against the marble floor as he made his way through the crowd. He didn’t even have a plan — he just knew he couldn’t stand there one more second watching someone else make you laugh.

When he reached you, his voice dropped low, casual — or at least he tried to make it sound that way. “Didn’t know they let clowns into Good now,” he said, cutting a glance at the boy, who immediately went quiet.