Finally, Xander points to a package on the table. It’s from me. A red bag with Rey on it.

“Open it,” Xander commands.

Parker reads the tag first because he’s a polite kid like that. He smiles at me and then tears into it, revealing The Last Jedi.

“Thanks, Ava!” He forgets all about the magic trick, but I don’t. I’m waiting.

Xander rocks back on his heels, casual. “Keep opening it.”

Parker’s brow furrows. He uses his teeth to tear into the cellophane wrapping on the DVD. Glancing at Xander for confirmation, he opens the case. A single black card falls out.

“Is that your card?”

Parker nods, mouth gaping. His friends go wild, and Xander takes elaborate bows before the kids start to crowd around him, fighting for a chance to examine his cards. He lets Parker shuffle his deck.

“Ava? Weren’t you going to perform?” Deb asks. I don’t know how long she’s been next to me. “I can get the room calmed down for you.”

I was. But how can I follow that? Parker’s looking up at Xander with an awe he’s never had for my cheap coin tricks.

“No.” I turn and meet Deb’s eyes. “Thanks, though.” And I hope she knows I’m thanking her for more than just the offer—it’s the best I can do.

She nods.

“Wait,” Xander says. “We have one more… don’t we?” Xander jerks his head toward Roman. “You came all this way.”

Roman turns a look on him that would probably wilt flowers. But all the kids are staring up at him with wide, waiting eyes, and when he notices, his cold face melts a fraction. The corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling, even though his lips don’t move. He takes a few long strides to the center of the room and stands there until the chattering kids settle back down, and then he waits a little bit longer until the silence starts to feel uneasy.

Just when I’m about to give up and announce it’s time for cake, he brushes a hand through his hair. A knife appears in his fingers when he pulls his hand back, and he spins it so fast the pearl handle becomes a blur of white. He stops just as suddenly and balances it on a single finger.

“Would anyone care to test if this is a real blade?” he asks softly.

Several hands shoot up.

Deb gives me a look. We probably shouldn’t let twelve-year-old kids handle knives.

“I’ll do it.” I make my way to the front of the room before he can pick someone else.

Roman hands me the knife. It’s beautiful and heavier than I thought. I run my finger along the blade and let out a tiny gasp as I draw a drop of blood.