Page 23 of In Shadows We Dance

I find my spot by the window. There she is, moving like she’s trying to escape her own skin. Her body twists and curves, every step pulling me deeper into her orbit. It’s a language she doesn’t even know she’s speaking, every turn drawing something darker out of me. The way her back bends, the stretch of her arms—it’s a challenge, and I can’t look away. She’s lost in her own world, unaware of how closely I’m watching. How much I’m learning.

My phone’s in my hand before I think. The camera focuses through the glass, capturing her mid-spin. Blurred, but perfect—the tension in her frame, her hair loose from its tie.

I take another. And another. Each photograph is a piece of evidence, proof that the invisible girl exists.

That she’s real.

That she’smine.

She moves into a series of jumps, each one perfect, but I can see the strain beneath the grace. She’s pushing herself harder than usual, probably trying to dance away our English encounter.

Click. Her body suspended in the air.

Click. The moment her feet touch down.

Click.The way her hands shake slightly as she moves to the barre.

Each photograph is a confession. Each image a secret she doesn’t know she’s sharing. But just watching, just documenting isn’t enough.

The door opens silently when I test it, and the music swells as I creep inside.

She’s lost in her world, oblivious. There’s something hypnotic about it, the unpolished edge beneath her grace. Every spin, every leap, I half-expect her to see me. To catch my reflection. But she’s too far gone.

The urge to break that peace burns through me. She’s unaware of the game I’m playing, how each step aligns her world with mine.

I follow her, letting her lead without realizing she’s beingstalked. My steps match hers, a silent rhythm that draws me closer …closer. The music swells, her body shifts with it, and I move in, erasing the space between us.

My arms lock around her waist mid-spin, pulling her back against me. Her soft skin under my hands, her scent filling my lungs. My palm over her stomach catches the exact moment her breath hitches.

I lower my head, lips brushing her ear.

“Hello again, Ballerina.”

CHAPTER 11

Breaking Point

ILEANA

The music carries me,every beat anchoring me in movements I know by heart. My body remembers the flow, the stretch, the balance. Here, I can pretend Wren Carlisle doesn’t exist. Pretend I don’t feel his eyes tracking me in hallways or his voice echoing in my head. For a little while, I can forget what it feels like to look over my shoulder.

I’ve made today’s routine harder—more spins, higher jumps, each movement demanding everything I have. I need the burn in my muscles, the ache in my chest, anything to drown out Lottie’s voice from the library.

Carlisle and his friends like to play games.

The warning loops in my head as I push through another series of turns. Each spin blurs the memory of this morning—Wren’s eyes on me at my locker, his voice echoing in English class, thetouches of his pen against my back.

Sometimes they don’t end well for whoever they pick as their playmates.

I push harder, spin faster, driving myself to the edge of exhaustion. My feet move on instinct, the rhythm pulling me forward.

But Lottie’s voice isn’t the only one that’s intruding on my thoughts. Wren’s is there too.

Secrets make everything more interesting, don’t you think? They bind people together.

The way Lottie froze when he walked over, her confidence evaporating in an instant. I wasn’t any better, barely managing to hold myself together. He didn’t even need to raise his voice—just standing there, smiling that infuriating smile was enough to make my heart race.

You’re not invisible anymore, Ileana. Better get used to it.

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