-transfixed- Kenna James- Lauren Phillips- Jade... -

“It’s whether you can,” Jade finished softly.

Lauren set down her glass. The clink against the marble was a period at the end of a sentence. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them until Kenma could smell her perfume—smoke, amber, and something sharp like crushed mint.

Kenma’s breath hitched. She should run. Every rational part of her brain screamed it. But her feet were rooted to the floor. She was transfixed—not by fear, but by something far more destabilizing: the sheer, electric certainty that if she stayed, she would be unmade. And some dark, quiet part of her wanted nothing more. -Transfixed- Kenna James- Lauren Phillips- Jade...

From the darkness, another figure emerged. Jade. She was softer than Lauren, but no less arresting. Where Lauren was a blade, Jade was a velvet glove hiding steel. She stepped close to Lauren, her fingers trailing along Lauren’s arm before she turned her attention to Kenma. Her expression wasn’t hungry. It was curious. Gentle, even. And somehow, that was worse.

The gallery was closed. The lights were dimmed to a soft, amber glow that dripped from the sconces like honey. She’d only stayed behind to retrieve her forgotten scarf—a thin, silken thing now twisted around her fingers. But as she turned to leave, her heel clicked on the marble floor, and the sound echoed into a side corridor she’d never noticed before. “It’s whether you can,” Jade finished softly

And Kenma realized she was right. Not because they were holding her. Not because the doors were locked. But because she had stopped wanting to escape. The scarf slipped from her fingers and puddled on the floor like a surrender.

Lauren Phillips stood beneath a single spotlight, her silhouette impossibly long and sharp against a canvas of deep crimson. She wasn't looking at the art. She was looking at Kenma. Her posture was a study in control: one hand on her hip, the other holding a glass of dark wine that caught the light like a ruby. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them

“I know,” Lauren replied, taking a sip of her wine. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Kenna James knew she shouldn’t be here.

Kenma tried to look away. She tried to remember the layout of the gallery, the exit by the coat check, the night air that would break this spell. But her gaze snagged on Lauren’s movement—the deliberate tilt of her head, the way her free hand gestured to the shadows behind her.