Once the heralds finished shouting the names, and the initial wave of attention moved on to its next spectacle, Nada and I were finally allowed to exist like normal guests. Or at least as normal as two women could be after being publicly labeled “important”. Plus, most people were now busy gossiping about our Raik and Kan rather than our dresses.

  We drifted away from the entrance, glasses of something pale and sparkling placed into our hands by silent servers who seemed to glide rather than walk. I let my shoulders relax and took my first real look at the ballroom.

  It was beautiful in the way only obscene wealth could manage. Crystal chandeliers floated overhead, suspended by both chains and magic. The floor was polished stone inlaid with silver filigree that caught the light and reflected it upward, making the whole room glow as if lit from within. Music flowed from a chamber ensemble of mostly five musicians, with string instruments humming in soft harmonics that shifted gently as people moved.

  Such a setting was not too foreign to me. I had attended similar events with my mother back on Earth.

  No, what caught my attention was not the décor. It was the people.

  As Nada and I circulated, I started to notice patterns. There were Clusters; not just random mingling, but a deliberate grouping.

  The first cluster dominated the center of the room. Most of them had cyan hair, light or dark, bordering on blue, braided or loose, with only a few exceptions scattered among them. Their clothes were extravagant and aggressively enchanted. Monster cores were worked openly into jewelry and buttons, glowing faintly with restrained power. Defensive wards shimmered along women’s corsets and men’s vests, barely visible unless you knew what to look for. This group laughed loudly, spoke confidently, and took up space like they owned the room. A few women, in pairs and triplets, were on the dance floor, showcasing their grace in an elegant display of movement, while the man stood to the side watching and talking. If I had to guess, these were the Soulit nobility, old families with ties to Tree Gate and the Soul Realm, the kind of people who expected the world to bend politely around them.

  The second group was less apparent. They were arranged closer to the edges, forming smaller clusters, each one marked by a similar family crest sewn on their chests. Their hair colors were mostly anything but cyan. Dark blues, blacks, reds, browns, metallic shades. Their clothing was just as expensive, or sometimes even more so, but worn differently than the first group, with a more martial edge to it. The enchantments were precise rather than ostentatious, layered carefully instead of displayed. These people would sometimes mingle with the first group. I assumed these were the Elemental Bloodline clans, especially when I noticed Raik edging closer to people dressed similarly to him, many with fiery motifs. Not all of them seemed too happy to see Kan on his arm, especially the men, but most of the women looked resigned, just another young agame starting a scandal.

  The third cluster lingered near the walls, around the refreshment tables, and under the softer lighting. Their clothes were still elegant and expensive by any reasonable standard, but noticeably plainer, with almost no visible enchantments, no monster cores sewn into cuffs or throats. Their finery relied on fabric, tailoring, and presentation rather than magic. Some of them I recognized in passing as freelancers from the guild; most of them looked like merchants. If I had walked in blind, I would have assumed Nada, and I belonged here.

  Except we did not.

  People from the second group kept approaching Nada with short conversations, familiar tones, and a noticeable amount of respect. Whatever role Nada played in the city, it clearly placed her among the Bloodline nobility.

  As for me, I floated somewhere undefined. A curiosity attached to Nada’s side.

  I watched, assessed, and categorized; every smile was a signal, and every laugh was calculated. The compliments felt like coded messages that everyone other than me seemed to intrinsically understand. I tried my best not to make a fool of myself.

  And I was standing in the middle of it, holding a glass I had no intention of tasting, suddenly very aware that nothing I said tonight would be forgotten.

  I watched as the clusters shifted when new guests arrived, alliances subtly adjusting like pieces on a living board.

  I was still tracking the slow reshuffling of the room when I felt it, that subtle pressure that came with someone strong stepping into your personal space.

  “San Alice Hecate.”

  I turned to find Kerissa Kashak standing close enough that retreat would have been awkward. Up close, her presence was even more overwhelming. She did not need to raise her voice or posture to dominate a conversation. The room seemed to lean toward her naturally, like iron filings to a lodestone.

  “Captain Kerissa,” I replied, dipping my head politely.

  She smiled warmly, her floating golden hair framing her face like a halo of light. “Please. Tonight, just Kerissa. We are all here to celebrate, are we not?”

  Her eyes flicked briefly to Nada, acknowledging her with practiced grace, then returned to me with focused attention. She was the first one to address me directly, rather than as Nada’s accessory.

  “I wanted to tell you,” she continued, loud enough that a few nearby nobles could not help but overhear, “how impressed I am by how well you carry yourself. For someone so new to Hano, you look entirely at ease.”

  I resisted the urge to glance down at my own hands to confirm they were not shaking. “Thank you. I am doing my best not to make a fool out of myself.”

  Kerissa laughed lightly, a sound that invited others to laugh with her. “Modest, too. That suits you well.”

  Then she did something I had not expected.

  “I truly believe,” she said, her tone sincere and ringing clearly through the small knot of listeners that had formed around us, “that if anyone deserves recognition for what happened at the Pikar Steppe, it is you. Without your decisive action in locating the missing people and bringing reinforcements, many lives would have been lost. I think it was you the herald should have labeled the Savior of the Missing, not me.”

  I felt heat rush to my face. Around us, heads turned. Murmurs rippled outward like disturbed water.

  I tried my best to keep a straight face, but deep down I was wondering why someone like Kerissa was buttering me up.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like Kerissa. She even let me hold onto her when we rode a dragon together.

  But I recognized the technique instantly. I had seen it before, back on Earth, when research labs tried to lure promising graduates; praise delivered publicly, credit magnified, and egos stroked just enough to make refusal feel ungrateful.

  Is she trying to recruit me into a faction or something similar, or am I overthinking it?

  I forced myself to smile calmly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that credit belongs to the people who fought. I was simply the means of transport. The combatants were the ones who bled.”

  Kerissa studied me for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then nodded approvingly. “A refreshing answer.”

  Her gaze drifted down, lingering briefly on my dress. “And speaking of refreshing, this is new.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Well, it was made locally, but inspired by designs I saw in the great dream. I had a seamstress named Petra make it for us.”

  Kerissa’s eyes lit with genuine interest. “Ah. I thought so. There is movement in the fabric that our tailors rarely allow. I may have to commission something similar for the next ball.” She smiled. “I like your boldness in appearing with something new. You may have started a trend.”

  I hoped Petra would survive the attention.

  Kerissa’s focus shifted again, this time toward the center of the room, where Raik stood with Kan at his side.

  “Speaking of boldness,” she said thoughtfully, “that is a bold choice.”

  I followed her gaze. “It certainly caught people’s attention.”

  “Do you know them well?” she asked casually. “Are they friends? Lovers? Or is this Raik reminding everyone that a Karda fought beside him at Pikar?”

  The question seemed casual. The implication was not.

  I kept my expression neutral, carefully assembling my answer. “Raik is not the type to do things without reason. Given the setting, I would assume he is making a statement.”

  Kerissa hummed softly. “A power play, then.”

  “Possibly,” I said, lifting my glass without drinking from it. “Or a reminder that heroism is born of action, not lineage.”

  Her smile sharpened, pleased.

  “I like how you think, San Alice.”

  As she stepped back, already turning her attention to her next conversation, I finally let out the breath I had been holding.

  You owe me one, Raik. You are lucky I did not accidentally reveal that I know you two are a couple.

  Whatever this night was turning into, I had the distinct feeling that Kerissa Kashak had just marked me as someone worth watching.

  I had barely finished resetting my expression when someone else approached us. Her aura was subtler, and she was not nearly as strong as Kerissa.

  “San Alice Hecate. San Nada Lore, welcome to my ball.”

  The voice was warm, measured, and entirely unhurried.

  “Lady Winterbloom,” Nada said smoothly, inclining her head in a courteous bow. I followed suit, mimicking Nada’s gesture a half second later.

  The lady standing before us wore a practiced smile. She was older than Kerissa, somewhere in her forties if I had to guess, and she carried the confidence of someone born to power. Her hair was a pure cyan, worn long and bound in a crown of braids. Everything about her was controlled, from the way she held her hands to the precise angle of her head as she regarded me.

  “Please,” Lady Sa’a said lightly. “Just call me Lady Sa’a. There are far too many Winterblooms here tonight.”

  Her gaze lingered on me with open curiosity.

  “So you are the traveler who has caused such a stir.”

  “I seem to have done that,” I smiled. “Not through malice of intent, I assure you, Lady Sa’a.”

  She laughed, clearly amused. “Oh, do not mistake me. You have been a positive addition. Feel free to cause as much chaos as you like, so long as by the end of it the city we call home grows stronger.”

  She laughed audibly at her own joke, and I followed suit with a polite chuckle.

  “Come,” she said. “Let me introduce you properly.”

  She gestured, and I realized I had already stepped into a small orbit of women circling her presence. Several of them shared her cyan hair, light or dark but unmistakable in tone. Their dresses followed similar lines of elegance and enchantment, subtle but undeniably powerful. These were Soulit noble ladies, or at least I thought so.

  “This is Lady Hi’i of the Green Canopy,” Sa’a said, indicating a tall woman with braided cyan hair adorned with emerald jewelry shaped like leaves. “Lady Fa’a Rootspire. Lady Me’e of the Verdant March.”

  Each greeted me politely, smiles thin but courteous.

  “And this,” Sa’a continued, turning slightly, “is Lady Jarra Outspring. I hear you are well acquainted with her son, Ki’a the dragon slayer.”

  Lady Jarra was the only exception among them. Her hair was long and dark, worn loose down her back, and her features were soft enough to seem almost gentle. From what I knew, she was an Elemental Bloodline noble who had married into a Soulit family.

  Ki’a had once mentioned that his mother possessed poison abilities.

  Death affinity: quiet and extremely lethal.

  She smiled at me, and I had the distinct, uncomfortable impression that she could kill anyone in this ballroom without spilling a drop of blood on her dress. I wondered if a stronger soul protected against poison, or if enchantments were necessary. Suddenly, I understood why so many nobles wasted powerful wards on their clothing.

  “San Alice,” Lady Jarra said warmly. “I have heard quite a bit about you. Both Ki’a and Ko’i have spoken highly of you.”

  Right. That would make her Ko’i Outspring’s stepmother… or was it third mother? I still was not entirely sure how polygamy worked in this world.

  “That is kind of them,” I replied, unsure how else to respond.

  Sa’a’s attention drifted to our attire, and her smile deepened. “I must say, both of you look remarkable tonight. Quite unconventional choices, but refreshing.” Her gaze moved deliberately between my dress and Nada’s. “It takes confidence to stand apart so clearly.”

  Was that approval? I hoped so.

  “Thank you,” Nada said. “We had excellent guidance.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Sa’a hummed softly. “I imagine you did.”

  “And of course,” she continued smoothly, “we must speak of the Pikar Steppe. San Alice, you truly saved the day by bringing Lord Kichi Agame when you did.”

  I inclined my head. “I only brought him to the fight. The credit belongs to those who drove back Todor. Without them, my contribution would have meant nothing.”

  “Do not be modest,” Lady Sa’a said. “One of Lady Hi’i’s overseers was among the missing.”

  Lady Hi’i nodded. “He was an estate factor. He went missing after collecting last month’s rent. I suspected a local gang. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the Old Realm Cult.”

  “Oh. Did he return safely?” I asked.

  “He was roughed up, but he will recover. Sadly, they emptied his bank account. The rent money and thirty gold coins of his personal savings.”

  “How did they manage that?” Lady Sa’a asked. “Aren’t bank badges secure?”

  “They tortured him until he transferred everything to another account,” Lady Hi’i said, agitation sharpening her tone.

  “The bank must address this,” Lady Me’e added. “Otherwise, no one’s hard-earned money is safe.”

  “I have filed a complaint,” Lady Hi’i replied. “The bank is investigating, but the thief’s account was opened in High Rock. It may take time.”

  “High Rock again,” Lady Fa’a muttered. “They grow bolder. Perhaps a few military raids would remind them of their place.”

  Sa’a laughed lightly, cutting the conversation short. “Let us not turn a celebration into a war council.”

  She turned back to me. “So, Alice. You have been in Hano for a few months now. Do you intend to continue the freelancer life, or are you planning to settle down and find a suitable husband?”

  Lady Jarra laughed softly. “If you wish to join the Outspring family, I could make that happen easily.”

  She winked.

  “I think I will remain a freelancer for now,” I said carefully. “You know, the call of adventure and all that.”

  “Boo! You are no fun,” Lady Jarra pouted. “I am sure I could convince Ki’a to take you as a wife. It would be harder if you had your eyes on Ko’i, though, with him being the heir.”

  I froze for half a heartbeat, then laughed awkwardly.

  “That is very generous,” I said quickly, hoping it came across as charm rather than panic, “but I think Nada would make a far better wife than I ever could.”

  All eyes shifted to Nada. Sorry, Nada.

  “Did you know,” I continued hastily, “that she has unique ink magic? Entirely her own. The way it interacts with her bloodline is fascinating.”

  That did it.

  The conversation pivoted instantly, from marriage to magic. Questions followed about hybrid abilities, bloodline interactions, and kindred attributes. Ki’a’s mixed heritage was also discussed, and how his soul dealer abilities interacted with his death affinity.

  “I think Hano’s diversity…” I offered carefully, “...could create conditions for entirely new expressions of power.”

  “It is a gamble,” Lady Hi’i said, shaking her head. “Soul dealers are rare enough. We cannot afford to lower the odds through reckless realm mixing.”

  “It is easier for men,” Lady Jarra said with a laugh. “They do not carry children for twenty-five weeks.”

  “Most families would collapse under the economic strain if men were allowed as many heirs as they pleased,” Lady Me’e denied.

  I listened and nodded as the women debated logistics and bloodlines.

  This was not idle conversation.

  They were testing boundaries. Measuring how far realm mixing was acceptable. How much dilution was tolerated before it became dangerous? Who approved, and who felt threatened.

  As they spoke, I became acutely aware that this exchange was being watched from more than one direction.

  And not everyone approved. Oops. I hoped I had not made more enemies… again.

  Nada and I separated once more from the group of Soulit women as Lady Sa’a moved off to greet other guests, her entourage slowly flowing after her. I lingered near the edge of the crowd, observing the room and its shifting dynamics, when a small incident caught my attention.

  A teenage Soulit girl drifted too close to Kan, a glass of red wine held a little too carefully in her hand. The intent was obvious the moment I noticed the angle of her wrist.

  Kan, who was used to dodging far deadlier attacks, saw the prank coming from a mile away. She shifted aside at the last second, graceful and precise. The wine splashed harmlessly onto the floor instead, staining the stone but missing her blue dress entirely.

  The girl froze, then quickly made an exaggerated face of apology before disappearing into the crowd with practiced speed. Almost immediately, a pair of servants appeared, kneeling to clean the spill before it could draw further attention.

  Raik looked annoyed, his posture tightening, but Kan seemed entirely unbothered. She barely spared the incident a second glance.

  I was about to head over to them when the herald called for attention once again.

  “Supreme Commander Haro Okar of the Unified Defense, and General Ta’o, leader of the Regulars,” he announced in a clear, commanding voice.

  I felt it ripple through the ballroom, as if everyone were holding their breath at once.

  The doors at the far end of the hall opened wide.

  An older man entered first, walking with an easy stride, shoulders relaxed, expression open and warm. His head was bald, his beard silvered with age, and his smile broad enough to feel genuine. I had heard enough descriptions to recognize him immediately as Elder Haro Okar. He looked less like the highest military authority in the realm and more like a beloved grandfather arriving late to a family gathering. He had forgone a uniform entirely, instead wearing flowing white robes beneath a dark wool cloak. The style reminded me vaguely of Earth’s Middle Eastern royalty, dignified without being rigid.

  The second figure could not have been more different.

  The temperature of the room seemed to drop as he stepped inside. He was tall and muscular, his posture rigid, his presence sharp enough to cut glass. His uniform was immaculate, heavy with badges, medals, and symbols of rank and authority. He carried a weapon as well, a crystal sword that glowed from within. It looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t recall where I’d seen it before. His eyes swept the room in a single, calculating glance, measuring threats, assets, and liabilities all at once.

  General Ta’o.

  The contrast between them was almost jarring.

  I watched Ta’o’s gaze flick toward the center of the ballroom and settle on Kan.

  There was no attempt to hide the disdain.

  His lip curled faintly, eyes narrowing in a way that made my skin prickle. Whatever history existed there, it was clearly not a friendly one. Kan met the look without flinching, her posture steady, her expression unreadable. Still, I noticed her silver necklace and bracelets begin to shake slightly.

  Then Haro Okar laughed.

  It was a full, booming sound, cutting through the tension like a blade through silk.

  “Raik!” he called, already moving toward him. “It has been far too long.”

  He clasped Raik’s forearm with obvious affection, then turned and nodded toward Kan as well. Kan stiffened for a fraction of a second before relaxing, returning the gesture with measured respect.

  Ta’o remained a step back, watching. His expression stayed neutral, but his disapproval was unmistakable.

  “I heard that you have finally joined us here in Hano,” Haro Okar continued warmly. “Your family has always been a great asset to the city.”

  Around them, nobles watched closely. Some smiled. Some whispered. Mostly, I suspected they were taking cues from Okar on how to handle Kan’s presence.

  From what I could tell, the message was clear. Respect Raik’s rank enough not to make a public issue of it.

  And in this room, that alone counted as a victory.

  Haro Okar approached the hostess next and bowed to her. He waited until the room had fully settled before he spoke.

  “My apologies, my lady,” Haro Okar said warmly, spreading his hands in a placating gesture, “but would you allow me to hijack this beautiful ball to speak a few words?”

  “By all means, my lord,” the middle-aged woman laughed. “My event is your event.”

  A ripple of polite laughter moved through the room.

  “I promise I will be brief,” Haro continued, his smile widening. “But some things are too important to leave unspoken. Tonight is a celebration, yes, but it is also a rare moment when so many of the people involved in recent events are gathered under one roof.”

  The atmosphere shifted. Not tense, but attentive.

  “The cult that tried to operate within our borders,” Haro said, his tone sobering, “was not stopped by chance. It was stopped by action. By a few of our youngest people who stepped forward when it mattered.”

  He paused, letting the words settle.

  “And several of those people are here with us tonight.”

  A murmur passed through the nobles, curious and expectant.

  “First,” Haro said, turning slightly, “the dragon slayers. Ensign Ki’a Outspring, Sergeant Takur Agame, and Sergeant Hans Veilborn.”

  That earned a sharper reaction.

  Heads turned. I followed the motion of the room and realized, with a start, that three figures seated off to the side were now unmistakably the center of attention.

  I had not noticed them before.

  All three wore suits in a style that reminded me strongly of Victorian Earth. Ki’a’s was deep charcoal, sharp lines emphasizing his frame. Takur favored a fiery red shade like most of the Agame present tonight, and with his muscular build, he looked perpetually ready for combat. Hans wore a garish purple suit paired with a pink satin cloak, because of course he did.

  They stood as one when their names were spoken, acknowledging the applause in their own ways. Takur offered a solemn nod. Ki’a flashed a cocky grin. Hans responded with theatrical bows.

  The nobles clapped enthusiastically. The dragon slayers were already considered local celebrities, and their popularity was only growing.

  “And with them,” Haro continued, his gaze sweeping the room, “two freelancers whose contributions were no less vital.”

  “Leader Nakera Kebya and Kuru Tarame,” he announced.

  I spotted Nakera immediately. She stood near the edge of the crowd, shoulders squared, wearing sharply tailored masculine clothing that fit her like armor. The cut was deliberate and practical, carrying no apology for itself. Her hair was bound neatly in a ponytail, her expression unreadable as applause washed over her.

  Kuru stood beside her, resplendent in a black dress that highlighted her hips, reinforced by a structured corset thick enough to block an arrow. There were no visible enchantments, but the fabric was unmistakably high quality.

  The murmurs grew louder as nobles traded quiet comments, taking in the contrast between the two women.

  Haro waited until the applause subsided before continuing.

  “These individuals,” he said, “represent the very best of the next generation of the Freelancer Guild. They have shown courage, adaptability, and a willingness to act where others hesitate.”

  He turned slightly toward Raik and Kan.

  “And of course,” he said, his voice warming again, “I must thank Raik Agame, son of the hero Taka Agame and younger brother of Commander Kichi Agame.”

  Raik straightened, his expression steady.

  “Your strength,” Haro continued, “was overwhelming. Especially when you supported your own brother against Todor the Failed Dravak, driving him to flee like the coward he was.”

  Then Haro’s gaze shifted, lingering on Kan.

  “And Kan, your presence and your actions were no less important. Whatever disagreements exist beyond this room, results cannot be denied.”

  The applause here was more restrained, but it was present.

  I felt tension ripple outward as eyes flicked toward General Ta’o, who stood stone still, his expression carefully neutral.

  Haro’s gaze moved again, this time settling on me.

  “And San Alice Hecate,” he said, smiling openly, “without whom Lord Kichi Agame would not have arrived when he did. Timeliness saves lives as surely as blades do. And a new teleporter in Hano can only be a boon to the city.”

  Heat crept up my neck as the room applauded again.

  “Last but not least,” Haro added, turning to Nada, “San Nada Lore, whose recent improvements to guild logistics and coordination have already begun to show results. Quiet work, perhaps, but no less vital.”

  Nada inclined her head, composed as ever. She could face praise from the highest authority in Hano without flinching, but a compliment from Marina was enough to make her blush. A fangirl’s life is never easy.

  The applause faded slowly, leaving a charged hush behind.

  Haro Okar’s expression softened.

  “There is one more name that must be spoken tonight,” he said.

  The shift was immediate.

  “Lloyd Kahal,” Haro said simply.

  “A moment of silence,” he continued, “for those who fell, and for those who did not return home.”

  The room fell silent.

  Even the music stopped. The servants stood still.

  The pause stretched, respectful and heavy.

  Then Haro inhaled and straightened.

  “But,” he said, lifting the mood deliberately, “we honor the fallen by strengthening the living.”

  The music resumed, brighter now.

  “I am pleased to announce,” Haro said, turning back to Nakera, “that Nakera will be promoted to Sergeant within the Freelancer Guild, effective immediately.”

  The reaction was instant.

  Applause erupted, louder this time, from nobles and freelancers alike. I spotted Kerissa standing near Sergeant Lanka and several other freelancers I recognized from the guild. Nakera blinked once, surprise flickering across her face before she squared her shoulders and nodded sharply.

  “Well earned,” Haro said warmly.

  Then he turned to Raik.

  “Raik,” he said, his smile turning challenging, “your performance was exceptional, especially considering this was your first mission.”

  A ripple of interest passed through the crowd.

  “Ordinarily,” Haro continued, “such strength would merit immediate promotion.”

  Raik remained still, attentive.

  “But with this being your first mission,” Haro said, eyes twinkling, “it would be against the rules. Instead, I offer you a challenge.”

  The room leaned in.

  “Clear thirty missions within one month,” Haro said clearly. “Do that, and your promotion is guaranteed.”

  A buzz exploded through the ballroom.

  Thirty missions. In one month.

  That was not an easy test, especially when travel time was taken into account.

  Raik did not hesitate.

  “I accept,” he said simply.

  The excitement was palpable. Nobles whispered eagerly. Freelancers exchanged looks of disbelief and admiration.

  Lady Sa’a looked positively giddy. Her ball was going to be the talk of the city for days.

  Haro Okar laughed again, satisfied.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Now, let us enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  As the music swelled and conversation resumed, I stood there, considering the chain of events. I would probably support Raik in this challenge. After all, the man had saved me once from becoming spider food.

  But that was tomorrow’s problem.

  Tonight, I was at a ball in another world. If I were going to exist in a place like this, I might as well enjoy myself.

  Before I could overthink it, I reached out and grabbed Nada by the wrist.

  “Come on,” I said, already pulling her along.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, startled, but smiling.

  I did not answer. I simply steered her straight toward Nakera and Kuru, who were still standing stiffly near the edge of the dance floor, both looking like they were bracing for another round of politics.

  “You two,” I said brightly, inserting myself between them, “are done brooding.”

  Before either of them could protest, I shoved the three of them forward and straight onto the dance floor.

  The music had shifted, lighter now, rhythmic and flowing. I had noticed something earlier. Unlike Earth, dancing here was not a paired affair. It was not about couples or partners. It was about movement and presence. It was a display of grace, mostly women showing movement, posture, fabric, and control.

  Once I understood that, it clicked.

  I started moving with the others, letting the rhythm guide me. Nada followed naturally, her movements elegant and precise. Kuru laughed as she spun, her black dress flaring beautifully. Even Nakera relaxed, her steps sharp at first, then looser, more confident.

  Five minutes in, I broke away from the cluster, scanning the room.

  Kan.

  She looked startled when I grabbed her hand, but she let herself be pulled without complaint.

  “You do not get to stand on the sidelines tonight,” I told her.

  She laughed, actually laughed, as we rejoined the others. The circle widened. Movements became bolder. Someone jumped. Someone else spun too fast and nearly tripped. We caught each other and laughed harder for it.

  Then, impossibly, Kerissa joined us.

  She did not care about rank disparity. She probably found it fun and wanted to join in.

  At some point, I lost track of who was watching and who was joining. The music swelled. The floor felt warm beneath my feet. My chest ached in the best possible way.

  I could not help it.

  I laughed, giddy and unrestrained, surrounded by friends, allies, and strangers, wonderful people in a world that sometimes still felt unreal.

  Whatever tomorrow brought, the night had just begun.

  Kerissa in her ball dress