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"Thank you all for attending this evening," the host announced, his voice projecting across the lavish ballroom, echoing against gold-leafed walls and crystal chandeliers. "Tonight, we gather not only in celebration of my daughter's coming of age, but also in honor of the future of the Moving City—the beacon of civilization that has carried us through darkness."
Scattered applause followed, but Margaret did not join in. Her gaze remained fixed, hard and analytical, watching the host with veiled suspicion. She felt Megh's hand tighten slightly at her waist, as if to remind her he was still there, still watching. The gesture was polite on the surface—but the pressure spoke of quiet restraint.
Outside, on the distant balcony bathed in silver moonlight, Bram tilted his head toward the sound of the host's speech echoing faintly through the open doors. He smiled.
"Oh, well. Looks like it's happening," he mused, more to himself than to Lucius.
Lucius, fists still clenched, snapped. "What's happening?! Why is everyone acting like this is some elaborate performance?" His voice rose, cracking with frustration. "I'm sick of the riddles! Why is everyone being secretive? What the fuck is going on?!"
Bram's smirk widened, amusement flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees like a child enjoying a puppet show.
"Oh, Luci," he purred, "if I told you everything now... wouldn't that ruin the surprise?"