My foot shoots out from under me.
I don't even get a full yelp out before his hand is around my wrist, his fingers closing around the bone with exactly enough pressure to stop my momentum and not a fraction more.
My other hand slaps the wall for balance, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I dangle there for a second like a fish on a line. One foot on the step, one hovering over nothing.
Rex just holds me there, staring at me, until I find my footing again. Then his grip loosens and he keeps climbing like absolutely nothing happened.
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
I swallow my heart back down out of my throat and follow him up the rest of the stairs on slightly wobblier legs than before, and not entirely because of the wet stone.
The workshop hits me with warmth and that familiar smell. Woodsmoke, leather oil, metal, incense. The same crazy masks cover every wall. The fireplace crackles. Cheeto is sprawled across an entire chaise lounge, his massive head resting on one paw.
The blind tiger's ears swivel toward us. He chuffs once, yawns, and goes back to sleep.
"He remembers you," Orion says pleasantly from the far workbench, those vivid green eyes flicking to me above his golden skull mask.
Rex drops onto the nearest stool like someone cut his strings, the chain between us tugging. He doesn't take off his coat. Doesn't look at anyone.
Jamie reappears with mugs, sets one in Rex's hands—wraps his fingers around it, actually, like Rex might forget how to hold things—and drapes a hand-knitted blanket over my shoulders, then Rex's, without asking.
Rex miraculously doesn't fling it into the fireplace.
My stomach tightens.
"So." Jamie claps his hands, his eyes locked on the fuzzy cuffs binding Rex and me together even as he pivots to the main workbench where several sculpted forms sit draped in cloth. He's distracted enough his hip hits the bench and almost knocks everything over. Orion's hand shoots out and catches it without missing a beat. "We've—we've beenbusy. Orion, do the honors?"
Orion rises from his workbench and crosses to the forms. His auburn hair is drawn back in a low tail tied with a black ribbon. His hair is long and thick enough that even tied back, some ofit's loose around his masked face, like he only wanted to draw it back part of the way today. He's even wearing a dark collarless shirt, sleeves turned to the elbow and buttoned in place.
He looks like he dressed for an occasion.
We're two dripping wet rockstars.
I feelwoefullyunderdressed in my rabbit hoodie.
Orion lifts the first cloth. The skull mask underneath is theatrical, aggressive. Exaggerated cheekbones, deep-set eye sockets, teeth bared in a permanent snarl. Cracks spider-web across the surface like shattered porcelain with the faintest hint of red along the fracture lines.
"Jamie's concepts," Orion says.
I run my thumb over the surface. It's lighter than I expected—resin, smooth and cool. "So they think the leaked photos were just part of the act."
Orion nods.
"Orion had to physically carry me to bed last night," Jamie says, appearing at my elbow with my tea.
"You fell asleep holding a brush," Orion says mildly.
"I wasresting my eyes."
I pick up the skull mask and turn it over. The interior is lined with that practical breathable fabric they'd recommended for my rabbit mask. Custom-molded padding along the nose bridge and cheekbones.
This wasn't made to fit over Rex's performance mask.
It was made to fit over his face.
I glance at Rex. He's staring at the mask in my hands. That single visible eye locked on those snarling teeth. He hasn't touched his tea.