One moment, their fingers were laced. The next—
Gone.
A sudden shove from a passerby, a brief stumble, and Iyana's hand slipped from his just as a surge of festival-goers pushed between them. Vyan tried to push back, tried to hold his ground, but the current of bodies dragged him down the street like a leaf in a flood.
"Wait—excuse me—move—hey—!"
But it was no use. The crowd was too cheerful and entirely unbothered by the fact that they had just separated him from his date.
By the time he managed to escape the flow and duck into a quieter side lane, his chest heaved—not from exhaustion, but from a creeping sense of déjà vu.
He'd been here before. Not in Preaton, but in a crowd like this in the capital. A few months ago. Swept away by people with no faces and too much noise. He remembered reaching out, calling for his aide. He was too excited to meet his crush. Clyde hadn't noticed, hadn't bothered.
But Iyana would. Oh, she absolutely would.
