Page 32 of The Encore’s Crown

Kasia stands in front of the incense burner with her hands folded, eyes closed. It makes sense; she carries her emotions like they’re sacred objects. She feels everything in such careful, private ways. I don’t, I lock mine down until they explode or find a practical way to express them. Things that remind me he was real, alive.

Rafe lingers beside her with his shoulder touching hers, silent in a way that means he’s trying. He keeps glancing at me like he’s checking for cracks. It annoys me even though he’s doing what he thinks Piotr would want: taking care of his sisters.

I shove my phone deeper into my pocket because the only thing I want to do is message Kiri. Not to talk about Piotr, nothing deep. Just to not feel alone in my skin for five minutes. But I don’t do it. He’s the one who insisted on distance. He’s the one who said we needed to be friends, or whatever the hell he decided. I’m not giving him access to the softest parts of me when he keeps pretending he’s not already in them. I cross my arms and fidget with my sleeve. Rafe watches me again, brows drawn.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

“I’m fine.” It comes out harsh.

Kasia opens one eye, sensing the snap before the echo even fades.

Rafe tries again, gentler.

“We don’t have to stay long.”

“I said, I’m fine,” I mutter, staring at the gate instead of him. He nods slowly, accepting the lie because what else can he do, but the guilt hits me anyway.

Kasia steps close and slips her arm around my waist.

“Nat… it’s okay if—” Something in me snaps, worn thin by the emotions that keep trying to leak from my eyes.

“If we wanted to mourn Piotr,” I blurt, my voice loud and brittle, “we’d get Polish vodka and blast Iron Maiden or Farba, not hang around temples pretending fancy incense fixes anything. He'd fucking hate this. Can we just go?”

Silence. Kasia flinches, Rafe’s jaw tightens.

The moment is ugly, unkind, and it’s mine.

My fault.

Before either of them can respond, I turn away, pretending the sudden sting behind my eyes is jet lag. I can feel Rafe’s hurt, Kasia’s disappointment. I know what this temple means to them, but grief feels like broken glass scraping down my throat and I want out.

We leave early.

The guilt settles heavy as I charge ahead through Nakamise Street, leaving them behind me, ignoring the destruction I’ve caused. We entered the temple as what felt like pieces of a family. Now we’re just three people wandering through grief in the middle of Tokyo, each pretending not to notice the distance between us.

By the time we get to dinner, I’m almost normal again, or at least better at pretending. Tokyo neon buzzes outside the window while menus clatter against the incredibly long table. Tonight promises to be loud and relentlessly chaotic if the state of everyone is anything to go by when I arrive, the exact kind of distraction I need.

Until the question of seating is addressed. I head toward the empty chair beside Kiri, the only chair I actually want, when he pulls Rithy into it. There's nothing subtle or smooth about it. It's the most obvious rejection on earth.

“Sit with Freja,” he murmurs without looking at me.

Heat floods my chest. Fury mixed with leftover desire, something tangled and cutting. Fine. If he wants space, he can have a god damn galaxy. Freja practically squeals when I sit beside her, full of Scandinavian mischief and confidence, already chattering about the menu like we’ve been best friends for years. Across the table, Rithy shoots Kiri a look that’s equal parts bewildered and amused. Ronan cheers when the sake arrives. Rafe keeps glancing between me and Kiri like he’s waiting for a bomb to explode in slow motion.

Kiri doesn’t look at me once. Signe slides into the seat on my other side. Her glossy hair is swept back, tattoos peeking from under a white tank, a blazer thrown carelessly over her shoulders. When she smiles at me, it feels like being caught in a spotlight. Kasia once called her “dangerously charismatic.” Now I understand why.

“Well,” she says with flirtation dripping off every syllable, eyes sweeping down my dress and back up, “that dress. It’s definitely doing things.”

I choke slightly on my water. “Hopefully nothing criminal.”

Signe’s grin widens, slow and wolfish. “Oh, if it were criminal, I’d only be more interested.” She taps her fingers lightly against the back of my chair, leaning in just enough to make my pulse skip. “It’s my whole manifesto, you know.”

I raise a brow, pretending to be unaffected. “What manifesto is that?”

She shrugs one shoulder, eyes glinting. “Be gay. Do crimes. Especially if those crimes involve you.”

A blush hits me, sudden and mortifying. I’m not easily flustered, but Signe has that honey-dipped charm that makes you wonder if she’s already imagining you naked. Across the table, Kiri finally looks up. His gaze lands first on Signe’s hand resting on my chair, then on her arm brushing mine, then on my face heating even more when she leans in to whisper something about my earrings.

Something flares in his expression. Possessiveness, dark and intense, flickering like a struck match. Under it, something that hints at arousal even though he’s trying so hard to suppress it. He looks away immediately, jaw tightening, and pushes his chair back so fast it scrapes.