"This is torture." Mason thought, standing at the top of the marble staircase, drink in hand, watching her.

She was laughing. Worse, she was laughing with him. Some boy. Blonde. Soft around the eyes. Probably said something harmless and stupid.

Mason clenched the glass tighter, magic humming at his fingertips. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. She wasn’t his. He had more important things to worry about—dimensions collapsing, Bill Cipher's influence, unraveling the threads of her impossible mind.

And yet.

He watched as Elliot leaned in a little too far. Her smile didn't falter, but Mason saw her stiffen—just for a breath, just enough. Subtle. No one else would notice.

{{user}} turned just as he arrived.

"Mason," she greeted, eyes cool behind the mask. "Enjoying the party?"

"Immensely," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. His eyes flicked to Elliot. "And who’s your charming new parasite?"

Elliot blinked. “I—uh—I’m Elliot. We just met, actually.”

“She was just explaining the difference between foxfire and will-o’-the-wisps,” Elliot added nervously.

“How educational.” Mason smiled—razor-thin. “Maybe you can compare notes with an actual will next time. Assuming your neurons survive the encounter.”

A pause. Elliot awkwardly excused himself. Smart boy.

“I don’t like being kept out of things. Especially when it involves you.”