Page 7 of Born for Starlight

“Followers. Press requests. And that podcaster, Julian, the one who did the piece on me a few weeks before the crash, he’s blowing up my phone wanting a follow-up interview.”

Adam’s brow furrowed. “Remind me. Which piece was that?”

“The orphanage one. Brazil, the trafficking angle, all of it.” I said it lightly, like always, because if I let my voice do anything else, people looked at me the way Adam was starting to look at me right now.

“Of course I know you’re adopted, like almost all the other Drakos kids, I just keep forgetting about your time in the orphanage.”

“Yeah, my wonderful origin story,” I grimaced. “Anyway, that was the angle Julian used when he interviewed me the first time. Since the crash its gotten a few million more views because me falling out of the sky is apparently excellent marketing.”

“Christ.”

“He keeps texting. Wants to sit down again, dig deeper, catch the wave while it’s still cresting or whatever nauseating metaphor he used.” I rolled my eyes. “If he keeps being this fucking annoying about it, there is not a chance in hell I’m ever sitting across from him again.”

“What does Marty think?”

“Marty thinks I should strike while the iron’s hot,” I said, and immediately regretted it, watching Adam’s jaw tighten.

“Of course he does.” His voice went flat. “He always finds an angle to use you.”

“He’s my agent, that’s literally his job.” I heard the edge come into my own voice and softened it, because I knew where this was going and I didn’t have the energy to fight about Marty in a jewelry store. “He’s pushy, and he’s a giant hardass, and he’s never once steered me wrong about my career. Give him that much.”

Adam didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, which was its own small mercy.

“There’s more,” I said, and felt my stomach drop as I said it. “Julian’s not just chasing views. He’s kept digging since the first interview. He thinks the people who ran that operation, the ones underneath the orphanage, the actual trafficking, he thinks they’re still active.”

Adam went very still. “Yeah? Still?”

“That’s what he says.” I wrapped my arms around myself, cast and all, and felt a shiver work its way up my spine. “I don’t love that theory. I don’t love it at all.”

Neither of us said anything for a second.

Priscilla saved us both, coming back through the velvet curtain with a slim leather folder with the bill and the ring itself, resting in a temporary box before it disappeared into the back for two days to be fussed over.

“Just need your signature here, and here.” She set the folder in front of Adam, then pulled out the ring so the light caught it one more time, before she took it away. “We’ll call you the moment she’s ready.”

“She.” Adam huffed, low, almost to himself. “That’s what you’re calling a ring now?”

“Force of habit,” Priscilla said, and slid the box shut.

Adam signed where she pointed, his handwriting jerkier than I’d ever seen it, and pushed the folder back across the counter like it might bite him.

“That’s it?” he asked. “Two days?”

“Two days,” Priscilla confirmed. “We’ll take excellent care of her.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed on the empty velvet slot in the display case a second too long after she’d carried the folder with the bill and the box with the ring away.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I keep thinking I should’ve just bought the thing straight from the case and walked out with it.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Two days feels like a long time to wait for something I already know is right.”

“Come on.” I looped my good arm through his and steered him toward the door, past the case with the bird ring, which I resisted, barely. “Buy me a milkshake. You just spent enough money in there to fund a small country, the least you owe me is ice cream.”

“I owe you nothing. You were a menace in there. And anyway, you should pay. I’m poor now.”

“I was delightful in there.”

“You clipped a display case with a cast.”