Jasper grits his teeth, jerking his gaze between me and the security guards about ten feet away, and then, with a last glowering look, he steps onto the escalator.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Lonny comes over to check on me.

“Are you all right, Imogen?” he asks, and I nod.

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

He nods back, and then he and his security detail fan out into the crowd once again. I sigh in relief. I should’ve reported Jasper the second he touched me but at least now I know he won’t be bothering anyone here ever again.

After he’s gone, I stand there at the top of the escalators, rubbing my arms, trying to scrub the grossness away—

And then my phone buzzes.

JESS (4:57 PM)

—#SaveAmara

—[Link]

My eyebrows furrowing, I click on the link.

Above me, the announcement for the end of the con booms over the intercom, and around me the world slows to a stop and everyone looks up as if the man speaking is the voice of a god. He’s not—he’s just the creator of ExcelsiCon, Elle Wittimer’s father. He died about a decade ago, but it’s become tradition to run his closing announcement every year.

I scan the article on my phone, and my heart rises, happy in my chest.

“Thank you for coming to ExcelsiCon! Safe travels across the universe, and we hope to see you again next year! As our friends in the Federation always say—Look to the stars!”

“Aim!” echoes everyone on the showroom floor, and I join in for the final word:

“Ignite!”

Cheers rise up across the con, and I close my eyes and relish it, because there’s nothing quite like the possibility of another ExcelsiCon. I put my phone away and turn to descend the escalator for the final time this year, and that ride down is just as magical as the first one I ever took, the lobby of the main hotel spreading like a sea of fandom before me. It feels like leaving home for a little while, but knowing you’ll be back.

That’s when I see him.

He steps onto the up escalator, looking like he just ran a half mile, his glasses askew and his hair wild. He locks eyes with me, and suddenly there is no one else in the world. My breath hitches in my throat as we pass each other—

I turn around, trying to wrack my brain for something to say, anything, and he spins to me, too, and blurts out:

“I think I might like you, Imogen!”