Page 4 of In Shadows We Dance

She thinks the dance studio is her sanctuary. It won’t be for much longer. Not once I decide to make my move, to strip away the illusion of safety she clings to.

The October sun warms my neck, but I ignore it. My focus is elsewhere. My mind is already plotting, planning, thinking about what comes next. I can hear my friends in the distance, their voices blending into the background noise of the school. They have no idea what I’m doing. If they did, they’d want to join in.

Today, I’m going to see what makes Miss Ileana Moreno tick, and I don’t want to share the experience.

The school grounds are quiet as I make my way toward the ballet studio. I know exactly where to stand—outside the building, by the narrow window, where I can see her without being seen.

I’ve done this before. Back when she first caught my eye, and I wanted to see where she disappeared to. But this time feels different.

This time, she’s come into a much sharper focus.

Coming to a stop just out of sight, I peer through the small window. Classical music drifts through the cracks, and there she is—already moving across the floor, her body flowing with the music.

I’ve watched her dance before, but never for long. A few minutes, enough to satisfy my curiosity, then I’d walk away. But today, there’s something raw in her movements. A desperation I haven’t seen before.

She isn’t the same girl who walks through the halls unnoticed. Not here. Here, she’s pure fire. Disciplined, graceful, every movement a statement of power she never shows outside this room. It’s a secret she’s kept from everyone—and now it’s mine.

I stare at her, transfixed. She’s lost in the dance, unaware of my eyes on her. She’s beautiful like this. Not conventionally, not the way people think beauty should look. It’s in the control, the focus, the perfection she chases with every movement. It’s in the frustration that flickers across her face when something isn’t quite right.

Her body moves with a kind of intensity that draws me in. Her feet glide across the floor, her arms reach out, her expression shifting between fierce concentration and fleeting satisfaction. There’s sweat beading on her forehead, dampening the strands of hair that have come loose from her ponytail. She’s putting everything she has into this. Every ounce of strength, every bit of focus.

I step back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She’s completely lost to the music, and I don’t move, don’t make a sound. Watching her feels like holding my breath. She can’t see me through the glass. She’s too focused on her dance. She thinks no one is watching.

But I am.

And she’s no longer just a game for the future. She’s the main event, the only thing in my head right now.

There’s a thrill in this—the knowledge that I see her as she truly is, and she has no idea. She’s caught up in her little world, but I’m the one who’s in control. I could step inside right now and disrupt everything, shatter the illusion. But I won’t. Not yet.

Because timing is everything.

She finishes her routine with a final flourish, her hands gripping the barre tightly as she stretches. Her movements are slower now, but the tension is still there. It’s in the way her muscles strain, the frustration in her face every time she glances at her reflection.

She’s not happy with what she’s seeing.

Good.

I take a step back, just as she glances toward the window, a hint of something crossing her face. Suspicion, maybe. But then she shakes her head, dismissing whatever thought crossed her mind, and goes back to her routine.

She hasn’t seen me. But she will. When I’m ready, she’ll know how closely I’ve been watching, and by then, it’ll be too late to run, too late to hide. She’ll be exactly where I want her.

I walk away from the studio, a smile tugging at my lips. Today is just the beginning. An unplanned beginning, but not unwelcome. Somehow she caught me off guard, ignited a spark I hadn’t expected, turning a new potential game into something far more captivating.

I make my way back to where my friends are waiting. They greet me with questions, wanting to know where I disappeared to, but I don’t reply. My mind is too busy thinking ahead, plotting, considering my next step. I’ve seen her vulnerability now.

She thinks she’s invisible, but she’s wrong. I see her. I see everything, and I’ve already decided how this will go.

She belongs to me now. She just hasn’t realized it yet.

CHAPTER 3

Under His Gaze

ILEANA

My skin won't stop crawling.

It starts just as I’m finishing at the barre. A whisper ofwrongnessthat makes the hair on my arms stand up. Every time I face the mirror, it feels like someone is breathing against my neck. The air turns colder, and a faint rustling sound breaks the silence. I check the studio twice, three times, but the mirrors only reflect the empty space around me and my own pale face staring back.

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