From the deep cradle of shadow between two towering event trailers, Maerisa stood silent, her presence cloaked from mortal sight, her red leather suit catching glints of refracted light in a way that made her shimmer like a living ember. She leaned slightly against the cool metal surface, arms folded across her chest, her expression one of curious amusement and quiet control.

  Her eyes, sharp and otherworldly beneath their kohl-dark framing, were fixed not on the crowd, but on Hank.

  And the women around him.

  She watched as Yuna waited in line, her stance poised, casual, but with a tension in her shoulders that Maerisa read all too easily. The girl was pretending to be unaffected. But her eyes told another story… watching Hank with subtle hunger, the ghost of st night lingering like perfume in the air between them.

  Maerisa felt it… all of it. She didn’t need to hear words. Hank’s longing pulsed through the tether that now silently connected them, a thread of growing magic and emotion born from the ancient bond she had begun to weave.

  He wanted Yuna again.

  Her smirk curled like smoke across her lips.

  “Sorry, my love,” she whispered under her breath, her voice ced with ancient cadence, “she’ll be gone soon. Never to be near you again.”

  Her gaze shifted as she felt Hank’s energy flicker… redirecting toward the Turtle girl who had just walked away. There had been desire there, curiosity. The way his eyes lingered on her thighs, the curve of her body in that green-and-purple suit.

  Maerisa’s smile deepened, tinged with something darker. “Maybe one day, Hank. But not today.”

  Then she felt something else.

  A shift in the crowd. A bubbling excitement. Joy.

  She turned slightly and saw Mel… the young Bck Widow cospyer, bounding toward Hank’s booth like a starlet approaching the red carpet. Around her neck hung a fresh All Access pass, the glossy minate swinging from a bck nyard covered in tiny, glittering red hourgsses.

  Trailing behind her with a composed, purposeful stride was Lena Alvarez.

  Maerisa tilted her head, watching the woman approach.

  Where so many others at the convention dressed in sequins and corsets, tex and fantasy, Lena wore no such costume. She didn’t need it. She exuded power and charisma by simply existing.

  Her navy-blue bzer, tailored to perfection, hugged her waist and broadened her shoulders, the pel pinned with a sleek con insignia in enamel and silver. Beneath it, a soft silk blouse in a muted burgundy drew warmth to her complexion. Her pants matched the bzer… dark, tapered, ending in polished boots that clicked with authority.

  Her hair, a deep brown that shimmered almost mahogany in the sun, was pulled into a neat braid that swung lightly behind her with every step. She wore no fshy jewelry, just a thin silver ring on her thumb and a smartwatch with a cracked screen… evidence of someone always working, always doing.

  And despite the sharp professionalism of her attire, there was grace in the way she moved. Confidence that came from knowing who she was, and not needing to prove it. She didn’t py for attention. She commanded it.

  Maerisa watched Hank notice her.

  The subtle change in his posture. The slight shift of his weight. The slow, appreciative smile that curved his lips as Lena approached. That flicker of desire that fred in his chest… not as wild or desperate as what he’d felt for Yuna, but more… curious. Quiet. Grounded.

  Maerisa’s pale lips parted, and she blew gently across the palm of her hand, whispering an incantation into the breeze. The breath of magic she sent caught the wind, invisible to all but her, and drifted across the lot toward Hank. It wrapped around him like a caress, light as silk, warm as breath on skin.

  He blinked. Looked up.

  And as he saw her again, but it felt like the first time… there she was… Lena, twenty feet away, walking with Mel toward his booth. The sunlight caught in the braid over her shoulder, in the shine of her boots, in the confidence of her stride.

  And Hank saw her differently now.

  Something inside him stirred… drawn not to a fantasy, but to the potential of something real. Someone whose power wasn’t found in bare skin or suggestive gnces… but in wit, capability, and intention.

  Maerisa watched with satisfaction.

  Behind Lena, Yuna stood still in line. Her eyes, sharp with memory, tracked the exchange with growing tension. She saw the look on Hank’s face… how his gaze lingered just a little too long. How he smiled as Lena ughed at something Mel said.

  And Yuna felt it.

  A cold knot formed in her chest. She wasn’t sure what it was at first… maybe shame, or guilt, but as it twisted tighter, she recognized it.

  Jealousy.

  It was stupid. Wrong. She was married. She had a life in another city. She had told herself, and Hank, that st night was a mistake.

  But gods help her… a part of her still wanted it again.

  Still wanted him.

  Even if she’d never admit it.

  Back in the shadow of the trailer, Maerisa’s eyes narrowed slightly as she whispered to the wind.

  “Careful, Yuna…” she murmured, watching it unfold. “You had your moment. And now, he begins to see others.

  “Soon,” she whispered, “he will see me.”

  And with that, the red-leather-cd elf vanished back into the folds of shadow… silent, watchful, waiting for the moment the light would find her too.

  ---

  Hank looked up just in time to see Mel practically skipping toward his booth, her new All Access pass swinging proudly around her neck like a medal of honor. Lena Alvarez walked beside her, her confident stride a contrast to Mel’s barely contained excitement.

  “So… all-access pass now, huh?” Hank said, raising an eyebrow with a grin.

  Mel beamed. “Thanks to you.” Then she leaned in close and cupped her hand to the side of her mouth. “I think Lena likes you.”

  Hank blinked, then gnced past her toward Lena… who was pretending not to listen. Her posture was as professional as ever, but the curve of her smile wasn’t just courteous. It lingered. There was a softness in her expression, something personal, something... inviting.

  “Really?” Hank whispered back.

  Mel nodded with the conspiratorial air of someone who knew more than her years should allow. “You should ask her out. Later. After the con.”

  Before Hank could respond, he heard a quiet snort behind them. He looked up to see the next girl in line, arms folded across her chest, expression neutral but clearly listening.

  She was younger… maybe seventeen, maybe barely eighteen, and clearly trying to py the part of someone older. She had a smirk on her lips, but her narrowed gaze had nded firmly on Lena.

  Sophia. That’s what her name tag said, stuck to the side of her camera bag.

  Her thoughts were nearly written across her face: “That woman must be at least twenty-six... old.” A small frown tugged at her lips as her gaze flicked between Lena and Hank.

  She wasn't shy. She had presence… and she wanted to be noticed.

  Today, she was cospying a stylized, original version of Spider-Woman. Not Gwen. Not MJ. Her own twist.

  Her bodysuit was a custom blend of deep violet and sleek white, the web pattern skimming across her torso and thighs like carefully drawn ce. It fit her snugly, molded to her figure with the precision only spandex could achieve. The design fred around her shoulders and hips in a subtle, stylized way… somewhere between comic book fir and fashion-forward risk.

  Her lips were glossy, and her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail beneath her mask, which she had pushed up just enough to show off her mouth and jawline… deliberately styled, deliberately revealing. The look was intentional.

  She posed with a casual, slightly exaggerated tilt of her hips, clearly aware of the effect her suit had.

  And yet…

  When Hank’s eyes met hers, he could see it instantly: She was young.

  Not just in age, but in expression. The confidence was practiced, but not rooted. Her voice, when she spoke, had the airy sharpness of someone trying to sound worldly.

  “Can you make me look sexy and heroic?” she asked, her tone just shy of flirtatious.

  Hank’s smile stayed polite, but behind it, he made a mental shift.

  This one’s a kid.Trying to be a star.Trying to be seen.

  “Let’s see what we’re working with,” he said, tone light and professional.

  He lifted his camera, stepping into familiar rhythm. “Strong poses. Power stances. You’ve got a sleek look already… let’s lean into the confidence.”

  Sophia nodded, falling into pose after pose… one hand on her hip, one arm raised, mimicking web-slinging with surprising accuracy. She arched her back subtly, turned her chin to catch the light just right, and gave the lens a look that was equal parts pout and challenge.

  But to Hank, it was clear she wasn’t quite sure what kind of reaction she wanted. She was testing the edges of attention.

  He snapped ten solid shots quickly… enough to give her what she wanted, without overindulging the aesthetic she was trying too hard to reach.

  When he was done, he lowered the camera and gave her a friendly smile.

  “Nice work. Strong presence.” He jotted the file numbers into his notebook, then looked back at her. “Tag?”

  She hesitated, then flicked her hair back slightly, mask still perched atop her head like a crown. “@web.spellbound. Two Ls.”

  He wrote it down carefully.

  “I’ll send a few polished options ter today. You’ve got some great motion in your poses. Lean into that next time… it suits you.”

  She smiled, genuine, this time. “Thanks.”

  As she walked off, Hank sat back for a second, letting his camera rest against his chest. He wasn’t blind to her intent. But he wasn’t there to py into fantasies that blurred lines.

  He was there to capture stories, not rewrite his own.

  And as he looked up, he saw Yuna standing next in line. Her eyes were watching him. And she had definitely seen everything.

  He stood a little straighter.

  Time to focus.

  The crowd shifted slightly near the edge of Hank’s booth, a soft ripple in the current of color and motion. And then he saw her.

  Yuna.

  She stepped into the frame like a vision conjured from a dream… one of those dreams that stayed with you long after waking.

  Today’s cospy was nothing like the soft, mystical priestess robes she wore the day before. No… today she had chosen daring, and she wore it like armor.

  Her body was wrapped in an intricate, high-cut bck leather bodysuit, glossy and fitted like it had been sewn directly onto her skin. Cutouts along her sides revealed glimpses of toned waist and hip, while crisscrossing straps at her chest left very little to the imagination… suggesting more than they concealed. A deep V-neckline plunged dangerously, and the fabric clung to her like a second skin, sculpting every curve with unapologetic precision.

  Long thigh-high boots completed the look, along with fingerless gloves and a short cape draped over one shoulder. Her hair, dark with subtle auburn highlights, had been curled and styled into soft waves that fell over one eye, teasing at her cheekbones.

  Her makeup was bolder today too… dark liner, a shimmer of violet shadow, a crimson stain on her lips that made her smile look like sin.

  And she was smiling now.Smiling at Hank.

  But behind that smile… flirty, dazzling, magnetic, was something else.

  Her eyes betrayed it.

  There was a flicker in them, small and raw. A shadow behind the glow. The kind of look someone wore when they were pretending not to feel. And Hank… though he knew better than to call it out, saw it.

  She was pretending.And she was perfect at it.

  “Back for more?” he asked, lifting his camera slightly, trying to keep his tone casual.

  Yuna stepped forward, slowly, her boots clicking softly on the flooring, her hips swaying with confidence… but every step was a performance.

  “Of course. I couldn’t leave without getting one st shoot with the con’s most wanted photographer.” Her voice was smooth, teasing.

  She stood in front of the green screen, struck a pose… one leg forward, one hand resting on her hip, the other brushing her hair from her face.

  Hank lifted the viewfinder, the lens settling over her.

  And the moment it did… his breath caught in his chest.

  Because now, he wasn’t just taking pictures.

  He was saying goodbye.

  With every click of the shutter, he tried to etch her into memory. The line of her jaw. The tilt of her smile. The way her body moved through light and shadow like it knew it was being worshipped.

  She shifted again… this time facing away, looking back over her shoulder, lips parted ever so slightly. It wasn’t just sexy. It was intimate. It was her way of saying, Remember me. Exactly like this.

  He took the shot.

  Then another.

  And another.

  His thoughts blurred with each one, unspooling like film in the dark.

  Her lips on his neck. The sound of her breathing his name. The soft gasp when his hands slid beneath the covers. The taste of her. The weight of her. The way her fingers had trembled when she held his face afterward.

  Her moans.

  Her kisses.

  God help him, he would never forget any of it.

  And he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Not really.

  Because this… this quiet, stolen moment behind the lens, was all they would ever have.

  “Last one,” he said softly, adjusting the frame.

  She gave him a pose that was equal parts power and surrender… head tilted back, arms lifted slightly, her body a silhouette of desire and defiance.

  He clicked the shutter.

  And then lowered the camera.

  Yuna stepped forward, slow again, eyes lingering on his.

  For a second, neither of them said anything. The noise of the con faded behind them, a quiet pocket of silence wrapped just around the two of them.

  Then she smiled… softly this time. Not flirtatious. Not performative. Just… warm. A smile filled with gratitude. And sadness. And maybe, just maybe, a bit of love disguised as restraint.

  “Send me the best one, okay? The one you want to remember me by.” Her voice was quiet, intimate.

  He nodded once, throat tight. “I will.”

  She turned and walked away.

  He didn’t stop her.

  He just stood there, camera still warm in his hands, heart a little heavier in his chest.

  And he knew… whatever else happened in his life, whoever else stepped in front of his lens, he would never forget her.

  Not for a second.

  Hank was still hunched slightly over his notebook, carefully writing down the photo ID numbers from Yuna’s shoot. The st number…#7423… caught the tail end of her final pose, frozen forever in the confident posture of a woman both powerful and untouchable. His pen lingered at the end of the row, as if unwilling to let it end.

  And then he felt it.

  That eerie, electric sensation… someone watching him.

  He looked up.

  And his breath caught.

  Standing just beyond the edge of his booth was the figure he had seen only in dreams and midnight memories… the woman who had haunted his thoughts since that strange, surreal moment on the street outside the hotel. The Gothic Elf.

  But this wasn’t some imagined vision. She was real. Right here.

  She stepped into the booth with fluid grace, her bck boots making the barest whisper on the floor. Today, she wore an impossibly fitted leather corset dyed the color of dusk… deep crimson with silver threading that caught the light like starlight woven through blood. Her skirt, torn artfully at the edges, was split high on one thigh, revealing fwless porcein skin wrapped in rune-etched garters. Her long white hair was streaked with crimson strands, cascading down her back like silken fire, and her pointed ears peeked through beneath dark curls adorned with silver cuffs and tiny bck feathers.

  Her eyes… violet, impossible, inhuman, locked onto his with knowing calm.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice a low, melodic whisper, soft as velvet and threaded with an accent he couldn’t pce.

  Hank swallowed.

  “Hi,” he echoed, somehow managing to speak.

  She stepped closer and held out a neatly folded twenty dolr bill. “I heard you’re the best,” she said. “Can you make my pictures stand out? A fantasy world… something old. Deep forest. An enchanted vilge, maybe. Make it look like I stepped out of a realm no one remembers.”

  Hank nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. His fingers brushed hers as he took the bill, and even that brief contact sent a strange warmth through his skin.

  Then he found himself saying, “I saw you… that other night.” His voice barely above a breath.

  She tilted her head slightly and gave a slow, knowing smile. “Tragic ending for that man.”

  He nodded. “The price for putting a life in danger.”

  Maerisa’s eyes lingered on his face, as if weighing something unseen. Then she stepped fully in front of the green screen.

  “You know who I am.”

  It wasn’t a question. Still, Hank asked softly, “What’s your name?”

  She looked at him through her shes, her smile delicate, almost pyful.

  “You can call me Maerisa,” she said.

  He nodded slowly. “Very well, Maerisa.”

  He raised the camera, and through the lens, she was unreal.

  Every pose she struck dripped with dark elegance. She didn’t pose… she commanded. Her movements were fluid, her expressions haunting… sometimes otherworldly, sometimes sultry, sometimes solemn, like a warrior woman remembering a century of battles fought under twilight moons.

  Her hands moved like dancers, her body arching and twisting with practiced grace. The details of her outfit shimmered under the studio lights, the green screen behind her ready to become anything… ancient ruins, moonlit forests, gothic castles wrapped in ivy.

  Hank lost track of time.

  He usually took ten to fifteen shots per cospyer, just enough to offer variety… but here, with her, he couldn’t stop.

  His camera clicked in rhythm, over and over, while his heart pounded out of sync. Somewhere between shot #24 and #42, he realized he had stopped blinking.

  Her eyes caught his through the lens, and for a breathless moment, it felt like she was looking into him, not just at him.

  Then came the crash.

  A loud metallic ctter erupted from down the aisle, followed by angry shouting. Hank instinctively looked toward the source… someone had knocked over a dispy rack.

  A fight had broken out between two cospyers.

  His eyes widened as he saw the Spider-Woman from earlier… Sophia, shouting, pointing at another girl who was just as worked up. Hands were filing. Security began moving in, people started to gather.

  Maerisa, calm and unaffected, stepped toward him in the middle of the chaos and slipped something into his hand. He looked down.

  A small folded note.

  “I don’t do social media,” she whispered, her voice brushing the shell of his ear. “But you can send the pictures here.”

  He unfolded the note.Her name… Maerisa, written in elegant handwriting.And a phone number.

  He looked up at her, stunned.

  She smiled.

  “By the way...” she whispered, lips curling with amusement, “those girls? They’re fighting over you.”

  And then, before he could react, she leaned in and kissed his cheek… slow, deliberate, soft as silk and warm as breath.

  It lingered.

  Then she stepped away, her cape fluttering behind her like shadows dancing in moonlight.

  And she was gone.

  Hank stood frozen for a moment, blinking, heart thudding in his chest. His fingers tightened around the note in his hand. He could still feel the imprint of her lips on his cheek.

  Slowly, he turned back to his camera and gnced at the counter.

  Sixty-three photos.

  He ughed under his breath, a soft, stunned sound.

  “Oops,” he muttered.

  But he was smiling.Deeply.

  Because something had just shifted in the world around him. And he had the photos to prove it.