The party had eased off its heels and sunk into its bones. Conversations broke into smaller constellations, music softened into a background pulse, champagne glasses sat abandoned at strategic angles, candlelight clinging to their rims like it didn't want to let go. This was the good hour.
The honest hour.
When people had drunk just enough to mean what they said, but not enough to embarrass themselves with it.
I felt her before I heard her.
Catherine's hand closed around my forearm, light but intentional, the kind of touch that wasn't asking permission so much as assuming it would be granted.
"Can I steal you for a moment?"
I glanced at Madison. She'd already clocked it, already weighed it, and gave the smallest nod. Green light.
"Lead the way."
