Chapter 8: The Forced Waltz

The gala swirled on around me, but I was trapped in a bubble of silent turmoil. The echo of Silver’s presence was a physical thing, a tremor in the air that set my every nerve on edge. I focused on my orchids, on arranging a spray of delicate phalaenopsis with a precision that was entirely unnecessary. It was a shield, a way to keep my hands and mind busy, to stop them from trembling, to stop myself from turning around to see where he had gone. I could still feel him. Not through the bond—I...