SKYE RILEY | SMILE 2

The bass thudded through the studio floor, steady and relentless, like a second heartbeat that didn’t belong to you.

“Again,” Anton called, clapping sharply. “From the top.”

You barely had time to breathe before the music restarted, New Brain flooding the room, all sharp edges and synthetic pulse. The mirrors caught everything. Every misstep. Every hesitation. Every glance you weren’t supposed to take.

You fell into position anyway.

It wasn’t new. None of this was. You’d been here for weeks, months maybe, long before the world even knew Skye Riley was coming back. Before the headlines. Before the carefully crafted smile.

Before everything.

“Five, six—”

You moved.

The choreography settled into your muscles like it had always lived there. Clean. Precise. Controlled. Your body knew where to go before your brain caught up, every step hitting exactly where Anton wanted it. You were good at that. Being exactly where you were supposed to be.

Skye was, too.

She moved like she was made for it, like the music bent itself around her instead of the other way around. Even now, even after everything, there was something untouchable about her. Polished. Rebuilt.

You told yourself that was all it was.

Nothing more.

Nothing that lingered when her gaze flicked toward you through the mirror for half a second too long.

Nothing that stayed when it shouldn’t.

The formation shifted.

Your cue.

You stepped forward, right on time, right on beat—your back aligning with hers as the choreography demanded. Close, but not too close. Controlled proximity. The illusion of something more.

Anton’s voice echoed in your head. Keep it tight. Keep it clean.

Skye’s hand came up, just like it always did, fingers brushing your jaw as she turned your head to the side.

It was part of the routine.

It always had been.

But her touch lingered a fraction longer than it needed to.

You noticed.

Of course you did.

You were supposed to drift away next. Slide back into formation, eyes forward, no hesitation—

—but you didn’t move immediately.

Neither did she.

It was subtle. Barely anything. The kind of mistake no one would clock unless they were looking for it.

But you felt it.

The pause.

The shift.

Then you pulled away, stepping back into your mark like nothing had happened.

Like it hadn’t meant anything.

The routine continued.

It should have ended there.

It didn’t.

You caught it in the mirror first.

Not a reflection—no, not exactly. More like… something off. A shape where there shouldn’t have been one. Someone standing too still in a room that never stopped moving.

Your steps faltered. Just for a second.

That was all it took.

Skye noticed immediately.

She always did.

Her eyes snapped to yours through the mirror, sharp and searching, and then—without breaking the flow of the choreography—she moved.

This wasn’t part of it.

She didn’t follow Anton’s counts. Didn’t return to her mark.

Instead, she circled.

Slow. Intentional.

By the time you realized what she was doing, she was already behind you.

Close.

Too close.

Her hands found your hips, firm, grounding—steadying you as if you’d been the one to pull her off track, not the other way around.

“You’re off,” she murmured, low enough that it didn’t carry past you.

You swallowed. “I’m not—”

Her grip tightened.

Not painful.

Just… certain.

“Don’t look,” she said.

Which, obviously, meant you did.

Just a flicker. Just your eyes.

The mirror caught it again.

That same wrongness.

That same figure—

Standing closer now.

Smiling.

Your breath hitched.

And just like that—

It was gone.

No movement. No fade. No explanation.

Just empty space where something had been.

The music kept going.

Anton didn’t stop it.

No one else reacted.

Like nothing had happened.

Like nothing was happening.

Skye’s hands were still on you.

Still tight.

Still there.

You realized, distantly, that the choreography had completely fallen apart.

Neither of you had moved back into place.

Neither of you seemed in any rush to fix it.

“You saw it,” you said, barely audible.

It wasn’t a question.

Her fingers pressed into your sides, grounding you again—like she could anchor you to something real if she just held on hard enough.

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, quieter—

“Yeah.”

The word settled between you, heavier than it should have been.

The music finally cut.

“Reset!” Anton called, oblivious.

Around you, everyone shifted back into place.

Normal.

Everything was normal.

You stepped forward, forcing your body to cooperate, to fall back into the rhythm you knew.

But this time, when you glanced at the mirror—

You weren’t looking for yourself.