As the music came to an end and I prepared to escort Elara somewhere private for the conversation that could change everything, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise of the ballroom like a blade through silk.
"Grandmaster Nightingale."
I turned to see Isolde Creighton approaching with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested this wasn't a casual social encounter. Her golden hair caught the ballroom's lighting perfectly, creating an almost ethereal glow that reminded me of the otherworldly presence she had always possessed. Her deep blue eyes held the calculating intelligence that had made her legendary throughout the political world during her supposed lifetime, but there was something else there—a knowing quality that made my skin crawl with unease.
