CHAPTER 71: SOMETHING IS WRONG

When I returned to the table, Raye looked up with a curious tilt of her head, her eyes still bright from laughter. "Where did you go?"

"Bathroom," I replied quickly as I sat back down.

The stolen drink still lingered at the back of my throat, sweet and heavy, and my lips tingled faintly.

"Mm." She hummed, unconcerned, and turned back to Jeron. They had fallen into easy conversation again, words flowing between them, making it obvious they had known each other for some time.

"So," Raye said slyly, narrowing her doe eyes at him over the rim of her glass, "are the rumors true?"

Jeron arched a brow. "Rumors?"

"That you’re seeing someone," she pressed, her grin widening. "A mysterious girl, slipping into the House of Ambrosia just to hear you play. I’ve heard enough whispers to piece it together. Don’t bother denying it."

Jeron’s pale eyes shifted away, and he gave a soft huff of amusement. "People in this city love to talk."

"Which means there must be something to talk about," Raye countered, leaning forward, her grin turning wicked. "So, who is she? Does she know she’s competing with half of Undercity for your attention?"

"I’m not in the habit of parading my private life," Jeron said smoothly, though the faintest twitch of his lips suggested she had struck a chord. "And even if there is someone... she deserves better than idle gossip."

Raye laughed, delighted. "Ah, so there is

someone. I knew it!" She wagged a finger at him, triumphant. "You’re impossible to pry open, Jeron, but I’ll get it out of you one day."

He only shook his head, a quiet smile ghosting across his mouth as if to indulge her without actually confessing anything at all.

I let them be, choosing to sit quietly and fix my gaze on the stage.

A group of younger musicians had taken their place where Jeron’s harp had stood earlier.

They carried instruments of their own, lyres strung with silver wire, flutes carved from pale bone, and drums with stretched skins that gave a deep, steady pulse.

Their energy was different from Jeron’s serene mastery—more raw, vibrant, restless.

The first beat of the drum struck like a heartbeat, and soon the music grew into something wild, coaxing the crowd to life.

Platters were set on our table, roasted meats drenched in sauce, sweet fruit dripping with juice, and bowls of sugared nuts.

A server poured more wine into my cup, and I drank without thinking, the liquid sliding warm down my throat. I tore a piece of meat with my teeth, though I barely tasted it.

My body felt heavy, my skin warming uncomfortably beneath the clothes.

After a while, I found myself tugging at the collar of my dress, my fingers brushing against the heat radiating from my own skin. My cheeks burned.

A strange warmth spread from my stomach outward, curling low in my belly and winding its way up my spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was alarming.

Is it the liquor?

"Don’t get wasted, Vien," Leika warned subtly. "It’s easier for you to be taken advantage of when you are not yourself."

"I know, alright. I only had few drinks."

The music swelled louder, strings and drums clashing in perfect harmony, and the air in the hall shifted.

Patrons rose from their seats, clapping to the beat, voices shouting encouragements.

A group of new dancers arrived, weaving into the crowd, their silks flashing like firelight as they beckoned others to join them.

Raye was up before I could blink.

"Come on!" she laughed, seizing my wrist and tugging me from the cushion. "Don’t sit there sulking like an old crone."

"Raye—" I tried, but she was stronger than she looked, and soon I was pulled into the storm of bodies.

The crowd swallowed me whole.

Laughter rang in my ears, voices rising in song, feet stamping in rhythm to the pounding drums.

The hall was a blur of color. Silks twirling, hair flying, lantern light spilling across flushed faces. Perfume and sweat mingled thick in the air, choking yet sweet.

Raye twirled a few steps ahead of me, spinning with abandon. Already men pressed toward her, drawn to her brightness, their smiles eager, their eyes hungry.

She laughed, tossing her raven hair as if she were born to be adored, and in the space of a few moments she was gone, lost in the sea of admirers.

I was left adrift.

The heat in me only grew worse. My pulse raced, each beat echoing against my ribs like a drum. My breath came too fast, too shallow.

The laughter and voices around me sharpened into something almost unbearable, shrill and echoing.

Every brush of a shoulder, every accidental touch felt magnified, too close, too much.

Something is wrong.

I blinked, fighting the dizziness clouding my sight. The haze of bodies pressed closer, spinning, clapping, shouting. I shoved past them, desperate for air, my chest rising and falling too quickly.

My thoughts slipped like sand between my fingers. The world tilted, blurred. I needed to leave, to breathe.

"Easy there."

A voice cut through the chaos, low and smooth. A hand brushed my arm, steadying me, though the touch only made the heat in my skin flare hotter.

I turned, vision swimming, and saw a man beside me. Tall. Broad. His features were difficult to focus on through the haze.

"You seem intoxicated with alcohol, beautiful," he said, his lips curving faintly. "Let me help you."

I wanted to argue, to tell him I could walk just fine, but my mouth wouldn’t form the words. My tongue felt heavy, my mind sluggish. The music pounded louder in my ears, drowning out sense.

The next thing I knew, the hall was gone.

The crowd, the music, the laughter—it all dissolved into shadow. The air shifted, cooler now, quieter, the perfume replaced by something fainter, wood and candle wax.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog in my head.

And when my vision focused again, I was no longer in the hall.

I was in a room.