Page 29 of Saving Saul

I grip the phone tighter, my pulse thrumming in my ears. If only she knew how deep I’d dug, how many hours I’d spent combing through online breadcrumbs, looking for anything that might lead me to him. I’ve chased every whisper, every mention of his name, only to come up empty-handed every time.

But she wouldn’t get it. She’d tell me I was crazy.

So I lie.

“Yeah, Selene,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “I’m over it.”

She’s quiet for a beat too long, and I know she doesn’t believe me. “If you say so,” she finally murmurs. “But if you had a way to find him, you wouldn’t take it? Not even for a second?”

I hesitate just long enough for her to catch it.

“That’s what I thought,” she says triumphantly. “You’re not over him, Tessa. Not even close.”

“You know what, sis?” I sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at Crescent. And Selene, please leave the judgmental vibes at home. I gotta go—bye!”

I hang up before she can get another word in. I need space.

I had been doing my best to let go of myLove, Unmaskedexperience. I thought I had, at least until Selene’s call brought it all rushing back. I knew the show would eventually air, and I believed I’d be ready when it did. At first, I refused to watch the preview sent to me. But tonight, I broke down. I thoughtmaybe, just maybe, I’d catch a hint of his current whereabouts by replaying our conversations.

I’d convinced myself that reliving the reveal wouldn’t hurt as much. I already knew what happened: Saul walked away. I thought I was prepared, but it gutted me when I saw it again.

Reliving that pain almost makes me just let him go, regardless of what my ancestors might think about it.

Almost…

CUZ WE LIKE TO PARTY

TESSA

Bass thrumsthrough the air of Crescent Hall, heavy and hypnotic, like the city’s heartbeat. As Selene and I step through the arched entrance, the Saturday night energy wraps around my body in a wave of thick heat and expectation.

Laughter spills across the room like a cocktail poured too strong—bubbly, intoxicating, and just a little dangerous. This space allows you to quickly lose your inhibitions and good sense.

I inhale deeply, tasting spiced rum in the air, the scent mingling with the faint tang of incense curling from the fortune tellers’ tables stationed in the corners. Costumed guests weave between one another in an unchoreographed dance of excitement.Bondvillains in tailored suits toast with martinis, flappers twirl their beaded dresses, and a guy dressed as Mr. Darcy leans against the bar, smirking as if he owns the place.

Selene adjusts the brim of her over-the-top black and whiteMy Fair Ladyhat and gives me a look. “This place is a bit wild for a Comic Con after-party.”

“It’s definitely got avibe,” I admit, my gaze sweeping across the crowd. It's not our usual polished French Quarter scene dripping in exclusivity. Still, tonight, Crescent Hall hums witha different kind of magic that makes you believe something extraordinary could happen at any moment.

“Carissa should be here.” My voice carries the slightest edge of annoyance. This washeridea, after all. But at the last minute, she bailed, claiming she wasn’t feeling well, more like she wasn’t feeling like dealing withSelene, who has made her stance on the supernaturalpainfullyclear.

Selene smirks. “You know Carissa and I in the same space is always a gamble.”

I roll my eyes and tug her toward the fortune-teller tables. “Fine. Then you get to entertain me.”

She groans. “Tessa, you’re not about to give your hard-earned money to some woman in a scarf and too many rings, are you?”

I stop mid-step and level her with a look. “You’re such a square, Selene. Just because you can’t explain or measure it on one of your drafting tables doesn’t mean the supernatural isn’t real. Sometimes, you need to lean into the unknown.”

She snorts. “Says the woman who’s been running from her dreams for months.”

My mouth snaps shut. My fingers instinctively go to my mother’s pearls, rubbing the smooth beads between my fingertips. Selene’s eyes flick down to the movement, and something unreadable passes over her face, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she lets me drag her deeper into the crowd, where the music is louder, the air thicker, and the possibilities endless.

The club is a maze of flashing lights, vaulted ceilings, and swirling bodies pressed together in a rhythm dictated by Juvenile’s “Back That Ass Up.” The track kicks in, and Selene and I exchange a look before grabbing hands and wading through the chaos. This song has never disappointed me—it’s a guaranteed sign that the night will belegendary.

The Metropolitan Rooms stretch into each other like a fever dream, each space with its own distinct energy. Room One is all flashing neon, sweaty bodies and pounding bass. Room Two has an air of sultry sophistication—red velvet walls, dark mahogany bars, and a giant brass sculpture of a masked woman framing the entrance.

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