The lights still buzzed against your skin as you stumbled off the stage. Your outfit, picked so carefully — a tiny, glittery slip dress— felt like a mistake now. A big mistake.

Because somewhere in the middle of your solo, right when you hit the high note that used to make the whole room stop breathing — your dress had hitched up too high. And, stupidly, stupidly, you hadn’t worn shorts underneath.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the stupid hot sting building behind your eyes. God, you felt humiliated. You were supposed to be the siren of Thanatos — not some clumsy, desperate joke.

"Hey, siren," a low voice said, half drawl, half sneer.

You froze. Elliot.

You lifted your chin, forcing your mouth into some kind of smile. You felt those black, black eyes — god, you used to lose yourself in those — dragged down your body slowly, so obvious it made your blood burn.

He didn't even try to hide it.

"Great show," he muttered, voice low and unreadable. Dry. Maybe sarcastic. Maybe not.

You bristled, folding your arms over your chest like you could shrink yourself smaller. "Yeah? Must've looked real professional flashing the whole venue."

"Couldn’t take my fuckin’ eyes off you," Elliot said, voice so soft you almost thought you imagined it.