Page 16 of Secrets in the Dark

"Is that what brought you to the Jade Petal? Performance experience?"

She turned toward the lights, profile illuminated by the neon glow. "A change of scenery. Sometimes you need to become someone else for a while."

The truth hidden within the lie. Interesting approach.

"And who were you before?" I asked, watching her reaction carefully.

Her shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "Nobody interesting."

"I doubt that."

Our eyes met, and something electric passed between us. The awareness of kindred deception. She was hiding something significant. So was I. The mutual knowledge created an unexpected intimacy.

"Why the interest in my background?" she asked, voice softening.

"Professional curiosity." I shifted closer, testing boundaries. "You don't move like the other performers. You watch the room differently. Calculate exits."

"And you notice such things because?"

"I told you. I'm observant."

She turned fully toward me then, abandoning pretense. "No, you're something else entirely. Dealers don't analyze movement patterns or security positions. They don't maintain sight lines to every entrance. And they certainly don't carry themselves with military bearing while pretending otherwise."

The assessment—startlingly accurate—should have triggered alarm bells. Instead, I felt a surge of admiration for her perceptiveness. Dangerous, considering our respective situations.

"You see quite a lot, Nova."

"Only what people show me." Her gaze held mine steadily. "Some reveal more than they realize."

The city lights played across her face, highlighting the intelligence in her eyes, the subtle tension in her jaw. Up close, without the stage makeup's heavy distraction, I could see the fine lines of stress around her mouth, the watchfulness that never quite left her expression.

She was beautiful, but more significantly, she was afraid. Not of me—at least, not primarily. Of something else. Someone else.

"What are you running from?" The question escaped before I could censor it.

Instead of retreating, she stepped closer. "What makes you think I'm running?"

"Experience."

Her lips parted slightly, the professional facade slipping to reveal vulnerability beneath. For a moment, I thought she might actually tell me the truth.

Instead, she asked, "And what does your experience tell you about me?"

"That you're hiding in plain sight." I lifted my hand slowly, telegraphing my movement before gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "That whatever drove you here haunts you still."

She didn't pull away from my touch. "You sound like you're speaking from personal knowledge."

"Perhaps I am."

The space between us compressed, heightening the tension until it crackled. Her eyes—hazel with flecks of gold caught in the ambient light—searched mine, looking for answers neither of us could safely provide.

I should have maintained distance. Should have remembered my mission parameters. Should have considered the complications she represented to an already complex operation.

Instead, I succumbed to the force of the magnetic pull by stepping forward and kissing her roughly.

Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, then responsive. The kiss deepened, her hand rising to my chest—not pushing away but steadying herself. I tasted mint and uncertainty, felt the slight tremor in her fingers as they curled against my shirt.

When we finally broke apart, her eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer than necessary. When they opened, the vulnerability had been replaced by something more complex—desire mingled with caution.

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