Page 148 of Scattered Glitter

“I don’t get caught when shit isn’t staged and a trap. And when I do, I know how to get out of it.”

“Yeah, right.” He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like it. Those cuffs behind your back held you in place pretty nicely, didn’t they?”

“Cuffs are nothing.” I snort. “I can get out of those in seconds. The real problem was the room with one exit. You blocked it. My plan was to be out of the cuffs before you managed to drag me to a car.”

Or at least, I’m pretty sure I would have made that plan eventually.

“You can get out of cuffs?” His gaze sharpens, scrutinizing me as if he’s trying to decide if I’m bluffing. The challenge is unmistakable. “Prove it.” Ezra pulls what appears to be the same pair of cuffs I already had the displeasure of meeting from his leather jacket, holding them out in front of me.

I stand, moving from Sylus’s lap, my eyes locking ontoEzra’s with a hint of defiance as I hold out my wrists. He doesn’t hesitate, snapping the cuffs into place, the cold metal biting into my skin. He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, watching me intently. I glance at Koen, who steps closer, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

I hold out my wrists to him, and he checks the cuffs, giving them a tug before his gaze shifts, catching the glint of the bracelet on my wrist. His eyes soften, lingering on the chain, then a smile spreads across his face, slow, warm, almost reverent, like he’s seeing something precious.

“They’re locked tight,” he murmurs, but his focus is still partly on the bracelet.

“Let’s see it, then,” Ezra grunts out.

“Watch closely,Detective. This is gonna be quick.” Taking a steady breath, I roll my shoulders, sizing up the cuffs. The room falls silent, and their gazes press in on me from all sides.

The cold metal bites into my skin, but I barely notice it as I slip my hand into my pocket, fingers brushing against my matchbox. I open it with a flick of my thumb, and there it is, a small, straightened paperclip tucked beside the matches.

I pull it out smoothly, and Ezra’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.

I twist the paperclip and slide it into the keyhole of the cuffs, my fingers quick. It only takes a few precise movements to find the catch, feel the subtle resistance, and then I hear it—the tiny click as the first cuff releases.

I switch to the second one without hesitation, repeating the same process. Within seconds, I feel the familiar give, the metal loosens around my wrist, and the cuffs drop onto the floor with a soft clink.

“Told you it’d be quick.” I lift my gaze, locking eyes with Ezra, a triumphant smile tugging at my lips.

Ezra’s eyes narrow slightly, his brow arching. “Can you do it behind your back too?”

“Yeah.” I give a confident nod, my smile widening. “I can do it with my eyes closed, front or back, stealthily if needed.”

His gaze flickers to the matchbox in my hand, then back to me. “You always carry that with you?”

Before I can answer, Sylus chuckles from where he’s still sitting. “She does.”

Ezra doesn’t smile. Instead, he frowns and tilts his head. “Salt and sugar look the same.”

I frown, irritation sparking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All right, that’s enough.” Before Ezra can answer, Levi steps between us. “Come on, Little Bird. Let’s take a break.”

The tension Ezra leaves behind feels like a hand still gripping my arm, even as Levi pulls me away. It takes a few deep breaths before I can let it go, and I try to focus on anything else. Levi leads me up to the stage without a backward glance. “Let’s not poke the bear,” he mutters and then immediately shifts gears without hesitation when we come to stand in the middle of the enormous, polished stage. “You’ve shown me all your tricks. How about I show you what I can do to cool off a little?”

Levi takes a step back, his eyes still locked on mine, but his expression is now focused, intense. The bubbly, lighthearted version of him I’ve gotten used to is gone. Instead, standing in front of me is someone else—a true showman, illusionist, someone who knows how to capture the stage and make it his own.

“Have you got fire for me, Little Bird?”

I hand over my metal matchbox without a word. He glances down at it, admiring the craftsmanship, before looking back at me. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Thanks.”

“Wait, there’s a little something…” He trails off as he reaches toward my ear. In one smooth motion, he pulls something from behind it—a feather, long and iridescent.

“Really?”

“Payback.” He shrugs, giving me his usual teasing smile, back to the Levi I know. “You know, I can do magic too. They even call me the best.”

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