The camera flashes are relentless, one after another, like a strobe light. My arm is looped around Lacy's waist, the other resting lightly on her shoulder. Her hand is splayed across my chest, just enough to sell the illusion. It's a pose we've done so many times that I could probably do it in my sleep—well, if the flashes weren't burning their way into my retinas.

Okay, so that's dramatic. Although my eyes are incredibly sensitive, to the point where I have to constantly have them protected, this is nothing compared to what I experience when I actually look directly at a bright light with no barrier. Still, it sucks, and I'd almost prefer that pain over attending these annoying events.

Lacy tilts her head, angling toward the cameras as questions fly over each other. Her smile is soft, effortless, like she isn't bothered by the noise. Like she was made for it. If she was, she sure seems to wish she wasn't.

Meanwhile, I'm tense, trying not to let my irritation show. The press eats that shit up. A headline about how much I hate my job is all they'd need to milk this for weeks. God, that would suck, especially since it's true. Kind of. In most aspects. I enjoy hurting bad people, it's the part where I have to save the innocent ones that gets annoying.

"Harlan," she murmurs without turning her head. Her voice is low, even, but I hear the faint edge of a laugh in it. "You're supposed to be smiling."

"I am smiling," I mutter through clenched teeth.

"That's not a smile," she says, her lips barely moving. "That's a threat."

I shift slightly, pulling her closer. "Works on most people."

Her nails press lightly into my shoulder—a wordless warning.

"Two more minutes," she says, her voice calm but firm. I try to muster something resembling a smile, but it's probably closer to a grimace. She adjusts her hand on my chest, her nails brushing against the fabric like she's subtly grounding me. Her movements are smooth, practiced. Everything about her is perfect for this, even if I know she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Why are you so good at this?" I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Practice," she says dryly, her smile still firmly in place, lips unmoving despite our conversation. "You could be too, if you didn't look like you'd rather be stabbed."

"I'm not an actor," is my simple response, like Lacy and I don't put on a show for the public every day.

"Shut up and smile."

The clicks of the cameras seem to multiply, and the shouts for attention shift to something less focused. Lacy turns her head slightly, her arm tightening around me for just a moment as the crowd starts to settle.

"Lacy! Over here! A couple more—"

"Thank you all so much," she says, her voice carrying over the noise effortlessly. "It's always a pleasure."

The cameras ease up. She's still standing tall, her smile unmoving, but I can see the moment her shoulders relax. The performance is over.

She steps back to my side, her arm brushing against mine as we turn away from the reporters and the bright, unforgiving flashes.

"That's it, right?" I ask, running a hand through my hair like I can brush off the static of being stared at. "No more pictures?"

"Not unless someone drags us back," she replies. Her voice is quieter now, closer to how she sounds when it's just the two of us.

"Good," I mutter. "I need a drink."

Lacy glances around the room, her gaze sweeping the crowd like she's assessing every possible escape route. Her dress catches the light as she moves, drawing more eyes than she probably realizes—or cares to. She's used to being looked at.

"The bar," she says, nodding toward the far end of the room. "Let's make it quick. We still need to find Day."

I fall into step beside her as we weave through the room, our pace just fast enough to avoid lingering questions from the crowd. Her presence is steady, unshaken, even with the noise and the eyes. She doesn't say much, but she doesn't need to.

The bartender looks up as we arrive, already moving to pour something strong when he assumedly recognizes me. Lacy doesn't sit; she just stands beside me, her clutch dangling loosely from her hand. Her gaze flits across the room again, her expression softening in a way that tells me she's looking for someone.

"Day?" I ask.

She nods, her eyes landing on the far side of the room. "I haven't seen her since earlier. You?"

"Nope." I take a long sip of whatever the bartender set in front of me. It burns, but it's better than quite literally anything else I could possibly be doing at this event. Lacy sighs lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm going to find her," she says, her voice calm. "Don't go starting a fight while I'm gone."

"No promises," I reply half-jokingly, draining the rest of my glass.

She doesn't laugh, but her lips twitch faintly before she turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving me at the bar with the burn of alcohol and the weight of too many eyes.

The bartender sets another drink in front of me, and I nod in thanks, swirling the glass absently as Noel's voice carries over the room. His delivery is smooth, every word deliberate, designed to pull the audience in. This is only the second speech I've heard of his, at least at these events, and he has quite a different approach from his father.

I don't bother turning around. His reflection is clear enough in the mirror behind the bar. He's on the small stage now, standing tall under the spotlight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Noel begins, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. "If I could have your attention..."

The bartender sets another drink in front of me, and I take it, more for something to hold than anything else. Noel's voice carries on behind me, each word polished and confident, like it's been rehearsed a hundred times. I lean my elbow on the bar and swirl the drink in my hand, watching his reflection.

It's all so predictable. The warm welcome, the thanks for showing up, the half-hearted acknowledgment of the heroes mingling in the crowd. He pauses for just the right amount of time after each applause, controlling the room without breaking a sweat. It should be impressive, I guess, but it just makes me want to throw my drink at the mirror.

"Heroes are our first line of defense," he says, his voice steady and firm. "But even heroes need structure. Accountability. Support."

There it is. The dig. Subtle enough that nobody will notice, nobody but me. Oh, what would we ever do without the support associations? Guess everyone would die. No more heroes. Give me a fucking break.

I'm halfway through my drink when movement catches my eye in the reflection. Near one of the side doors, I spot Lacy and Day slipping out. They're smiling at each other as they take their exit, and I'm not optimistic about either of them returning. Wouldn't be the first time Day decided to kidnap my girlfriend from one of these parties. I've never really cared. I know they're great friends, and it's not like I'm all that much fun when I'm this pissed off. Also, she's safe with Day, so I don't need to worry about that, either.

I'm still gonna complain, though. Of course. Of course I'd get ditched.

I down the rest of my glass and set it on the bar with more force than necessary. The sound is swallowed by the hum of the room, and the bartender raises an eyebrow at me like he's debating whether to pour another. I try to remember a single one of these events where I didn't end up making the bartenders uncomfortable with the amount of alcohol I drink to get through them. Either way, it's worse now that I'm alone. Now that I don't have John Wolfe as a cushion.

Behind me, Noel's speech is winding down, his voice dropping to a lower, more sincere tone. The room is quiet, everyone hanging on his words. "Together, we can ensure that Solace International remains a beacon of hope—a city that thrives not just because of its heroes, but because of those who support them: the people, the associations, and each one of you."

Polite applause follows, but it always feels hollow at these events. I don't bother clapping. Instead, I lean over the bar, letting the noise dull around me. The room shifts back to normal, conversations picking up again, the movement in the mirror turning into a blur.

I keep going, and the alcohol burns less now. Just a warm trail down my throat, dulling the edges of everything. The crowd, the noise, the ache behind my eyes from all the camera flashes.

Noel's speech has wrapped up, and I see him weaving through the room, shaking hands and flashing that carefully calculated smile. He's working the crowd like he was born for this—and maybe he was. The heir to a dynasty built on making heroes look good. The golden boy of public relations.

I'm staring too long, though, because the next thing I know, he's stopped just a few feet away, his yellow eyes locked on me like a hawk spotting a wounded rabbit. I look away, focusing on my drink, hoping he'll take the hint and keep walking.

He doesn't.

"Mr. Hayes. Glad you could make it."

I briefly contemplate the consequences of telling him to fuck off, and whether or not they'd be worth it. After some careful weighing, I make the decision to entertain the conversation, at least for the moment. I'll just treat conversation with Noel as I do with everyone at these events: like a chore. Maybe he'll get the hint.

I glance up in the mirror and find him leaning against the bar beside me, still standing. We lock eyes through our reflections, and I can't help but quirk an eyebrow at him. It's a simple change of expression, but the meaning is clear: what the hell do you want?

"Glad you gave me a choice," I snap, because he didn't. Mandatory events piss me off. Events piss me off. Noel pisses me off.

Noel frowns, studying me for a moment. I stir my drink, continuing to be boring, wondering why he's talking to me of all people. I have been the least receptive to his taking over of the company, why is he talking to me by choice?

I get my answer when Noel responds. "How many drinks have you had, tonight?"

Wow. Way to be subtle. Does he ever not work? Is he actually sticking his nose in my business right now, when I'm not even technically at work? I would quite literally rather be anywhere but here, and I've always dealt with it the same way. His father understood that.

"Enough to walk away if you ask me that again." I answer, despite the fact that that's probably something I'd do sober, too. I hear Noel let out a low chuckle, and spot the glass of champagne in his hand. I watch the bubbles rise to the top, the liquid sloshing around as Noel's changes his position to better face me. I continue to only look at him through the mirror.

"Where's your plus one?" Noel asks after a moment, conversationally. I narrow my eyes at him in the mirror, but for once, it's not really directed at him. I'm bitter at being abandoned, even if I also don't really care. It's not like Lacy would be having any fun with me right now, I'm in a bad mood.

Still, I don't think about it before responding. The fact that I'm willing to converse with this man to begin with may be a sign that he's right: I should slow down on the drinks.

"Ditched me for my hero," I snap, downing the rest of my glass. I motion at the bartender to get me another one, and he reluctantly does so. It doesn't taste as strong as the others.

"Why's that?"

I set my glass down on the bar top loudly, finally turning in my seat so I'm looking at Noel properly instead of through the filter of a mirror. I narrow my eyes at him, watching as he tilts his head, awaiting my response. Why the fuck does he care?

"Because it makes sense," my vision is getting blurry at the edges, and I'm having a hard time remembering how to center myself. The other people in the room sound like white noise, background static for our pointless conversation. "Day left a while ago. They both did, so if that's who you want, you can fuck off."

Noel raises an eyebrow at my response, his face carefully neutral, though there's a flicker of amusement in his yellow eyes. He doesn't take the bait, just sips from his champagne like he has all the time in the world.

"I wasn't looking for Day," he notifies me evenly, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "I'm here for you."

"Why?" I'm not even trying to maintain calmness, I'm visibly pissed off about the entire situation.

He shrugs, annoyingly calm. "Because someone needs to make sure you don't do something stupid."

I glare at him, my grip tightening on the glass in my hand. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah?" He leans slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to feel pointed. "You're three drinks past subtle, Hayes."

If Noel's goal here was to get me to stop drinking, it's kind of working. Whiskey is at the back of my mind right now, I'm far too distracted by the conversation. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

"How about you mind your fucking business?"

Noel doesn't even blink, my attitude not seeming to offend him as much as it usually does. Maybe he's just used to it. His gaze is focused entirely on me, and I watch him scan my face up and down.

"I am." Is his simple, measured response. He continues before I can bitch at him again. "You are my business."

I clench my jaw, narrowing my eyes further on the larger man. He towers over me like this, and I wonder why he won't either leave me alone or take seat. He must have some ulterior motive, because this conversation feels strange.

"No," my voice comes out low. A growl, a warning. "I'm not."

Noel sighs, and I watch his yellow eyes carefully scan over the crowded room. There's a tiredness to it, and I wonder what the hell he's so exhausted from. As far as a can tell, he doesn't fucking do anything.

"You're drunk, Hatter." Noel tells me evenly, and his calmness only has my anger rising. My inhibitions are practically nonexistent, so I am not above a physical altercation if he keeps pissing me off. He doesn't seem to be taking me seriously, either, "and you're still a hero, which means you're still my problem."

I don't like where this is going. "I'm nobody's problem."

"Then I'll ask you again: how much have you had?"

That does it. Nobody can ever say I'm not a man of my word, and while taking advantage of the free bar was my primary agenda for the night, I prefer just about anything to dealing with Noel's condescension. So, I stare at him for a few seconds, then stand up.

I was planning on walking away, but that falls through when I realize there may actually have been some truth to Noel's words. Maybe I shouldn't have been knocking back drinks so fast, or at the very been paying more attention, because I instantly have to grab onto the bar for balance.

Well, I hate to admit it, but it looks like Noel's intervention may have been warranted. I was not paying nearly as much attention to my alcohol intake as a thought I was.