The sleek black car purrs to a stop outside one of the most exclusive restaurants in the elven capital. Even the valet stands straighter when he sees who steps out of the back seat. Virgil DuCroix, draped in moonlight and arrogance, extends a hand toward Vaela like a knight helping a queen off her throne. She ignores it and steps out on her own.
The concierges inside notice them instantly.
Vaela looks like liquid seduction in heels, and Virgil, in his glowing white suit, is the image of divine temptation.
One nervous concierge bows low as they approach.
"Mister DuCroix," he stammers. "Your table is ready, of course. Right this way."
As they glide through the restaurant, heads turn. Conversations pause. A fork clinks loudly to the floor. Someone audibly gasps. They aren't just noticed… they're witnessed, like a rare celestial event.
Beautiful and potentially dangerous.
