STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: OF QUIET WATCHERS, MASKED MOMENTS, AND CRESTS IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: OF QUIET WATCHERS, MASKED MOMENTS, AND CRESTS IN THE NIGHT

RIYEE'S POV

If the world was still burning, it must've agreed to pause for tonight.

Solencia Courtyard shimmered with flickering chandeliers, strings of fairy light tangled in flowering vines, and the soft golden hush that only ever comes with magic-or very expensive illusions. I stood in a quiet corner by the garden wall, the hem of my moonlit gown trailing through dew-damp grass, crystal mask still resting lightly against my face.

I looked alone.

But I wasn't.

Not really.

Across the courtyard, Saichel was holding a flute of something fizzy while whispering into Alexie's ear, who batted him off with practiced grace-but not really. They were smiling too much. Touching too often. Watching me every few seconds like I was going to vanish.

Near the lantern pool, Keryn laughed into Lyle's shoulder, all perfect posture and affectionate gestures. But her eyes kept flicking sideways.

And somewhere-above, beyond, beneath-Tofer and Seb were definitely online, probably running three layers of surveillance, scanning crowd density, emotional vitals, and plotting response patterns like the overcoded maniacs they were.

Thres was harder to spot. Which meant he was there. Hidden somewhere in the shadows, watching. Always quiet. Always ready.

And of course-

Xythe.

Leaning against a far pillar, half-shrouded in ivy, casually flipping a dagger between his fingers like he wasn't dying of boredom. But his gaze? It didn't miss a beat.

It landed on me. Then lingered.

I could feel the Court's presence-
Not loud. Not theatrical. Just steady.
Like a tide that never left.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of being seen by them.

"You always pick the corners," a familiar voice said behind me-low and steady, like he was picking the perfect moment to ruin me gently.

I didn't have to look.

Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega.

When I turned, he was already close-moonlight kissing the edge of his suit, midnight cloak trailing behind him like ink bleeding into marble. His mask was steel-blue, fractured clean down the right side like a crack in a frozen lake.

He looked every inch the President.

Except... softer. Warmer. Mine.

"You always find me," I said, arms crossing instinctively. "What's your excuse this time?"

"No excuse. Just instinct."

I narrowed my eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like tracking."

"It's not. Unless you count emotional GPS."

I fought the smile clawing at my mouth. "Wow. Romantic surveillance. Bold strategy."

"Worked, didn't it?"

It always did. That was the worst part.
He could find me anywhere. Even when I didn't want to be found.
Especially then.

He extended a hand. "Come with me."

I didn't ask where.

I just followed.