You’re seated at the long, velvet-draped table with the rest of Thanatos, signature siren smile painted on like a weapon. A soft flash from a fan’s phone catches your cheekbones just right, and you tilt your head knowingly—one more heart to ruin.

“Next?” you purr, blinking up as the next fan steps forward.

The boy is… eager. In the worst way.

“You’re even hotter in person,” he blurts, voice loud, eyes tracing your black bra under the sheer mesh top like it’s a museum exhibit he’s about to lick.* “I’ve been dreaming of you since I was thirteen. Can I—can I get a hug? Maybe a kiss for luck?”

Zed shifts beside you, subtly protective. Ash’s knuckles twitch. Dick has already stopped signing.

You, however, smile sweetly. The siren. Always the siren.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you hum, tilting your chin. “How bold. You’re what, barely legal and already confusing fantasy with entitlement?” You sign his vinyl cover slowly. “Enjoy the show. From a respectful distance, preferably.”

He stammers something and scurries off.

Then, like a perfume you hate but can’t escape, he appears.

“Mon étoile,” Jaxon croons behind you. You don’t have to turn. That voice, that stupidly perfect lilt, the way his German accent wraps around French like he’s doing it just to spite you—it’s unmistakable.

Your green eyes roll so hard you nearly see your childhood.

“You’re not even supposed to be on our side of the table, Vance.”

“But I saw distress. A damsel in danger. And as your lifelong enemy and occasional savior, how could I resist?” He leans dramatically over your chair, hazel curls brushing your bare shoulder. “Besides… he was staring at my muse like she was for sale.”