The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Aurora

The sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtains, soft and golden, warming the tips of my toes before I even open my eyes.

My alarm doesn't wake me.
The text I'm waiting for never comes.
And yet somehow—I know what day it is.

The day after everything changed.

Again.

I roll over, tugging the covers tighter, trying to buy myself a few more moments of stillness. My body is tired from rehearsal, but my mind is louder than ever.

I sit up slowly, exhaling as my feet touch the cold floor. My muscles ache in that satisfying, ballet-worn way. A reminder of who I am. What I'm working toward. What keeps me moving even when everything else feels like too much.

The Nutcracker.
Opening night is tomorrow.

I can't afford to be distracted.

Even if I haven't heard from him since I slipped out of his car.
Even if I keep wondering what he's thinking.

I get up, stretch, and move through the quiet house, brushing my teeth, slicking my hair into a neat bun, and applying just enough makeup to hide the exhaustion still clinging to my eyes.

By the time I step outside and slide into the waiting town car for my commute to Juilliard, the city is already buzzing.

But I'm quiet.
Trying not to think about the things I can't control.
Especially him.
By the time I meet up with Lena and Ginny outside the campus café, the air is crisp and smells like espresso and deadlines.

Lena's wearing oversized sunglasses and sipping her latte like a runway model in recovery. Ginny's perched on the edge of the planter with a croissant between her fingers and a gleam in her eyes that can only mean one thing.

Drama.

"Good morning" Lena drawls, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to give me a look. "Ready to twirl your heart out for a room full of city elites?"

"She's gonna kill it," Ginny says around a bite of pastry. "Even if she's clearly been walking around with post-orgasm hair for the last two days."

I blink. "Ginny!"

"I'm just saying—your skin's glowing. Like... suspiciously glowing."

Lena smirks. "Someone's been doing more than just stretching at night."

I roll my eyes. "You two are insufferable."

"We're also right," Ginny counters. "And while we're on the subject—have you heard from your boy toy?"

My stomach tightens. "Joshuan?"

"No," Lena says, stepping closer. "She means Preston."

I blink. "What?"

Ginny crosses her legs. "Yeah. He's been missing since last Tuesday."

I go still.

"I mean, not, like, missing missing," she adds quickly. "Just... no one's seen him on campus. He hasn't shown up at the club. Not answering texts."

Lena lifts a brow. "You don't seem surprised."

I raise my coffee cup to my lips to hide my reaction. "I'm not."

They both stare at me.

"What?" I shrug. "I don't care. He ghosted. So what? He's not my problem anymore."

Ginny whistles low. "Damn. Cold."

"No," I say, more firmly. "Just done."

They nod. Quietly impressed.

Because maybe for the first time... I actually mean it.
By the time we enter the practice hall, the energy is different.

Tighter. Sharper.

The air crackles with nerves, the kind that come only when you're twenty-four hours away from opening night and every step, every breath, every tendu matters more than it ever has.

I strip off my coat and shoes, lace up my pointe shoes with quiet precision, and adjust the ribbon around my ankle until it sits perfectly against my skin.

The mirrors glare back at me—long, tall, and unforgiving.
But I don't flinch.

This stage is mine.
This role is mine.

Clara, the dreamer. The heart of The Nutcracker.

As the orchestra swells from the speakers overhead, our instructor, Madame Renette, claps her hands sharply. "From the top. Clara's solo. Aurora—you're up."

I take center.

The moment the music begins, everything else slips away.

My body bends and extends through the space as if pulled by invisible strings—floating, turning, leaping.

I hit every mark. Feel every note.

When the final pose lands, my chest heaving softly, I hear the faintest clap. Madame Renette nods.

"Again."
By the time we finish, I'm sweat-soaked, sore, and starving—but satisfied.

Lena bumps her shoulder into mine as we towel off. "You're ready. You know that, right?"

"I hope so."

"No, seriously," she says. "You're going to be the one they remember. Clara's spirit? It's all over you."

"Even if that spirit's currently held together by iced coffee and sheer panic?"

"Especially then."

We laugh, and for the first time in days, I feel light.

I gather my things and head out into the evening. The sky is already turning pink over the Manhattan skyline, the December air brisk enough to sting.

The town car is waiting.

I climb in, close the door, and lean my head against the cool glass.

Tomorrow is the performance.

And no matter what else is going on around me—
Who's missing.
Who's watching.
Who I'm falling for—

This part of me belongs here.
The second I step inside the house, I know something's different.

There's a quiet hum of conversation, the faint scent of cake, and a trail of golden streamers leading from the foyer to the sitting room.

I blink.

"What the—?"

"SURPRISE!"

The lights flick on fully, revealing my parents, Jamie, and even Diego and Luz Carvalho—standing around a massive vanilla-frosted cake that says: Good Luck, Aurora!

I cover my mouth. "Wait—what?"

My mom, stunning in a green wrap dress and a beaming smile, pulls me into a tight hug. "We wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow. You've been working so hard."

"Mom..." I whisper. "You didn't have to..."

"I know. But we wanted to."

Luke hugs me next, warm and quiet. "We're proud of you, sweetheart."

Jamie claps me on the back with a grin that almost makes me cry. "Just don't trip and ruin our family name."

Luz hands me a plate. "You'll be brilliant. You're already glowing."

I glance at Diego, who's leaning against the fireplace with a soda and a wink.

"Damn," he mutters. "You're officially a ballerina star."

I laugh through the tears forming in my eyes. "I don't know what to say."

Elle presses a hand to my cheek, her eyes soft and proud. "Just dance your heart out, baby girl. That's always been more than enough."