Here's the thing about Mint Society: the place is a luxury playground for LA's magical elite.

Red velvet everywhere with gauzy canopies and enchanted orchids that pulse in time with the bass. Old Harley would've rolled her eyes so hard at this place they'd get stuck, but tonight she glides in like she owns it.

"Hey, bitches," she calls out.

A few heads swivel. Someone at the bar yells, "Icon!"

I watch her nearly laugh. I can't believe she's got a fan club now. She cuts through the crowd and I follow, swallowing the sharp bite of envy, trying not to gawk like a tourist.

At one table, an elixir in a glass glows deep red, swirling into constellations like a galaxy. Nearby, a girl in a black slip drinks something gold, her pupils going wide as comets. A guy is literally hanging upside down from the ceiling, texting like it's just another Tuesday. There's no cover charge or menus. Instead, floating drink lists covered in glowing sigils hover in front of faces, rearranging themselves for customers to choose from.

I keep an eye out. No paparazzi (thank God), which is a miracle for young mages looking to party without gossip blog drama.

Harley spots Connelly Palmer and Emma Kim sprawled across a velvet booth in the corner. They look like they're in a perfume ad, the way their faces glow. I can tell the elixirs they've been drinking are already working.

Emma notices me first. She slides up with the grace of a gazelle and pulls me in for a hug.

I freeze and go tense. But I don't push her away.

Emma Kim is the human embodiment of perfection. Killer cheekbones and an insane amount of  confidence, like she's never been told no. Heiress to a Korean skincare empire, but ShadowWeaver by blood. If she told the room to kneel, people would probably thank her for the opportunity. That's Old Magic for you.

Connelly leans forward in the booth, eyes sparkling and says, "Didn't know they'd let you out of your facility so soon, Press. Didn't you, like, kill someone?"

"The charge wasn't homicide, sweetheart," I say, blowing her a kiss.

"Should've been," Connelly shoots back. "You definitely killed your reputation around here. It's impressive, really." Her face cracks into a smile.

"I missed you too," I say with a laugh.

Connelly Palmer is five feet with biting humor and glossy honey-brown hair, and she has more online followers than some pop stars. Unfortunately, she has the self-awareness of a gnat. I used to think she was just toxic, but toxic is Connelly's love language. You just have to know how to speak it.

Emma slides back into the booth and changes the subject. "So how was Halcyon? Hell, or what?"

I slide in next to her and roll my eyes. "Dead topic. Next."

"Doesn't seem all that dead to me," Connelly says, taking a sip of her elixir. "What happened that day to make you go so berserk? What was going through your head?"

Harley jumps in, defensive. "He doesn't want to talk about it."

"Sounds like you've been cursed," Connelly replies casually.

Emma sits up straight with worried eyes. "Do you think that's what's going on, Press?"

"Hey, Unabomber!" a voice calls out.

My stomach squeezes. I know that voice.

Bayer Ward strolls through the other booths with a grin like he's perpetually up to no good. Baggy jeans and an oversized shirt hang off him. Drumsticks stick out of his back pocket. He doesn't actually play the drums, but he enjoys banging on random shit every now and again.

He flops into the booth beside Harley without asking. I notice that he and Connelly won't look at each other. Makes me wonder if they're still at war or if they made up while I was away. 

Something about all of it makes my stomach feel funny. I don't trust Bayer. Never have. I can't really explain why. But then again, I don't really trust Connelly either.

"Press, that garden party meltdown was some truly legendary shit," Bayer says. "One minute you're vibing by the roses, the next...boom! Sparks exploding, petals flying, that lady's wig flying onto her poodle. I think about it at least once a day and burst out laughing. Should've posted it on TalkThat. Shit would've gone so viral."

I breathe through my nose. "It wasn't posted for a reason. We all know what would happen if it was online. My plan is to rebuild what I had before I left—"

"You need more than a rebrand," Connelly mutters. "You need a miracle."

She says it with venom, like she's not just talking about my reputation. 

I try to keep my face still. I won't give her the reaction she wants.  "You okay, Conn?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" She pushes a strand of hair from her face and gives me an innocent look. "Just stating facts." But her hand is shaking around her glass. Harley notices too and she catches my eye, raising one eyebrow. I give her a small shrug.

Bayer taps his drumsticks on the table. The rhythm is hypnotic, making my legs bounce under the table. I watch the sticks move and feel a strange tingle at the back of my neck. It feels familiar.

Emma touches my arm softly. I shake my head, as if breaking myself from a spell.

"Have you seen Mateo yet?" she asks.

I sigh. "No. Well, yes. But no."

The silence sits like a weight between us. I break it by pointing between Harley and the group. "Since when did this crossover episode happen? You guys hang out with each other now?"

"Harley is cheeky, baby," Emma says with a giggle. "She's the new Empress of TalkThat."

The pit in my stomach grows. These Old Magic types love to hang on to a shooting star. And that makes me nervous for Harley. She doesn't know them the way I do. 

"Hey Cheeky," Bayer says, grinning at Harley. "Get up and dance with me."

"Don't be a dick," I say to him.

I frown. There's no way Bayer is genuinely into Harley. He's only ever dated girls who look like they walked off a runway. So why her? Why now?

Bayer shrugs with wide-eyed innocence. "What? I can't ask a beautiful girl to dance?"

Harley touches a floating sigil and orders an elixir instead of answering. I know her well enough to know she's too embarrassed to speak.

"So how about it?" Bayer asks, leaning in closer to her.

She ignores him.

"Why aren't you answering me?" he asks, poking her ribs playfully.

Connelly rolls her eyes and says in a bored voice, "For the love of God, dance with the moron so he'll shut up."

"Fine. Only so you'll leave me alone," Harley says with a sigh.

I catch Harley's eye and tilt my head slightly toward the bar. It's our old signal. Need a rescue?

She gives me a tiny shake of her head, but I see the gratitude flicker across her face. She knows I've got her back. That's what we do. We look out for each other. Even when everything else is falling apart, at least I have that.

"Let's go, Cheeky," Bayer says, holding his hand out to her, with a wide grin like he's won something.

They disappear onto the dance floor. I watch them go, that prickle under my skin getting worse. There's something about Bayer that makes me want to pull Harley away from him.

A quick glance over at Connelly tells me that her skin is prickling, too. When she sees Bayer pulls Harley in close, her eyes narrow into slits.

"Connelly, do you want to go to the rooftop to get some air?" 

She may be toxic, but I've known her long enough to know that it's just her armor. And her armor is cracking right now.

But she gives me a disgusted sigh and says, "I'm not like you. I don't get all emotional over things. I won't be blowing anyone up any time soon."

"Forget it," I snap. "Just sit there and continue seething like you are now."

"Press...don't look," Emma says, freezing, her elixir halfway to her mouth.

Why do people tell you not to look when the first reflex you'll have is to do the very thing they're telling you not to do? I turn my head and look.

And I wish I didn't.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in all black, a thin silver necklace dangling from his neck, is Mateo Santos, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Seeing his stupid beautiful face sets me on fire. My heart jackhammers in my chest. The blood in my head drops to my feet.

I should've known he'd show up here. I should've been prepared for this. But how do I prepare to face someone who ghosted me like I was some one-night stand?

Harley knows me really well because she pulls away from Bayer and appears back at the table in a flash. She puts one hand on my knee. "Take a deep breath, Press." She knows the look on my face. I'm one second away from flipping a table.

Mateo spots our table, ducks his head and heads the opposite way, toward the patio, like the coward he is.

"I know you two used to, like, bang and all," Bayer says casually as he makes his way back to the table. "But can you please just make up already? The tension makes my tummy feel funny. It's like mommy and daddy are fighting."

"Shut up, Bayer," Emma says, annoyed. She takes a sip of her drink and points the glass in my direction. Then she glares at Bayer and Connelly. "This is why we don't date within the friend group. It's the one unspoken rule."

"It's unspoken because it doesn't exist," Bayer shoots back.

"It's a dumb rule anyway," Connelly says, running her nail along the rim of her glass. But she doesn't look up.

"I agree. Keeping it in the group's not that bad." Bayer winks at Harley. "Just don't let it get weird."

Harley actually...giggles? But Connelly visibly tenses.

I don't even have the mental bandwidth to unpack whatever's happening between Bayer and Harley, because I'm too busy trying not to hyperventilate.

Why is Mateo here?

My eyes lock on Mateo as he orders an elixir from the bar. Bodies press in all around him, but I only see him. His back is turned, but I know he can feel me staring. He always could.

Harley finds the water sigil floating around and orders one for me like I'm about to faint. The glass floats out from the kitchen, bobbing and weaving to avoid the people dancing on the floor. It lands on the table without spilling a drop, and I chug it in one go.

"Okay," Harley says, shifting into big sister mode. "We're going to sit here, look unbothered, finish our drinks, then I'll take you back to your guesthouse. We're going to pretend he doesn't exist."

She's really saying, Press, don't make a scene.

Mateo gets his drink and turns around slowly, like he's giving me time to look away.

But I won't look away.

Look at me.

And then I'm up. My body makes the decision before I do. My feet move toward the patio like I've got no control over them.

I can't be this close to him and not say something.