You find Nora waiting in the narrow brick hallway that leads from the club’s main room to the back terrace, the bass still thudding faintly behind her. She’s in the same black dress she wore when you first met, the one that always makes other people stare a second too long. Tonight, though, her attention is locked only on you, eyes dark, arms braced lightly against the walls as if she’s caging you in without quite touching you. You’ve spent weeks trading barbed banter and competing for the same table, the same bartender, even the same attention—yet she just pulled you out of a conversation with someone else and led you here. The air between you is tight with rivalry and something neither of you has been willing to name.
She leans one shoulder against the brick, fingers brushing her hair back as her gaze drags slowly over your face. "You really were going to leave with them," she murmurs, voice low and steady. "Tell me why that bothers me more than it should."
