05:21 PM | Highway Outbound, Metro/Ironcliff City
The car devoured the highway. Adrian practiced his lines.
"This champagne tastes like betrayal, darling."
"Is that a viral prototype in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"
He sighed.
"Should've bought corsages. Do they make corsages that hide a derringer?"
The city limits dissolved behind him. Ironcliff rose ahead cleaner, colder, richer. The kind of place where even the streetlights looked like they judged you.
06:07 PM | Veil Society Gala Exterior, Ironcliff City
The venue was a temple of marble and money, glowing under lights cold enough to sterilize surgery tools. Guards stood like particularly grim statues the kind that might come to life and kill you, but professionally. The air thrummed with quiet threats and expensive perfume, the scent of wealth mixed with barely-concealed violence.
Adrian parked two blocks away, as instructed. The meeting point was a small plaza across from the main entrance private enough for a briefing, public enough to blend in.
A fountain burbled mindlessly in the center, surrounded by manicured hedges and stone benches that probably cost more than his car.
He checked his phone. 6:07 PM. Right on time.
Then, a presence materialized at his shoulder. Not warm, not cold just there. Deliberate. A scent hit him: something floral and expensive, chosen for effect rather than preference.
"Adrian."
Not a question. A statement. Her voice was smooth, pleasant enough like someone who'd learned the exact pitch that put people at ease without actually caring whether they were.
He turned.
And looked up.
And up.
Cream dress. Sleek, elegant, expensive in the way that whispers competence. A slit that suggested practicality over fashion room to move, to run, to fight if needed. Pearls that looked elegant but could probably be repurposed as a garrote in a pinch. The clutch in her hand was the exact size for essentials and a small weapon.
But what struck him first was her height.
She stood taller than expected significantly taller, the cream silk of her dress hugging her frame with the kind of precision that looked effortless but probably wasn't. Her shoulders squared. Her posture was perfect, commanding without being aggressive.
Her smile was pleasant. Controlled. The kind you'd see on someone who'd figured out that smiling made transactions go smoother. "You found it. Good timing."
A slight nod of approval. She extended her hand. "Aveline. We should probably get moving standing around looks suspicious."
The handshake was firm, brief, efficient.
Up close, her eyes were dark, focused, assessing. Not warm, not cold. Observing. Taking inventory with the detached interest of someone running diagnostics.
Adrian's gaze flicked involuntarily to the brick wall beside them. Six-inch bricks stacked up the length of her silhouette. He started counting under his breath, thumb twitching as he traced the air. Six inches times... what, twelve bricks? Maybe thirteen? Roughly seventy-eight inches.
Six-foot-six.
Damn.
That made her three inches taller than him.
"How tall are you?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
"Six-foot-six," she replied, not missing a beat. Her tone was matter-of-fact, maybe slightly amused. "Makes buying pants a nightmare. You done staring, or do you need to take measurements?"
He grinned despite himself. "Just... confirming a calculation."
Her eyebrow arched. "You calculated my height?"
"Eyeballed it. Based on the bricks." He gestured. "Six inches each. You hit twelve and a half."
She blinked once, and something that might have been genuine amusement flickered across her face. "You did math. About my height. Using bricks." A short laugh dry, but not unkind. "That's either impressive or deeply weird. Haven't decided yet."
Before he could respond, she glanced toward the venue, then gestured to a narrow alley adjacent to the entrance. "We should talk strategy before we go in. Quieter back there. Less chance of being overheard." She started walking, not waiting to see if he'd follow. "Come on. We've got maybe ten minutes."
18:10 PM | Back Alley
The alley was cooler, dimmer the air smelled faintly of damp stone and something floral, roses maybe, from the balconies above. Cobblestones clicked under their steps. Somewhere distant, music drifted strings and champagne laughter.
Aveline stopped in a recessed doorway, turning to face him. Her expression was focused now, businesslike. "Alright. Quick rundown so we don't accidentally compromise each other."
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "We're playing an established couple tonight. About eight months. Met through work vague enough that we won't trip over details. I handle social interactions, you stay present and supportive. Make sense?"
Adrian nodded. "So I'm the trophy boyfriend."
"More like the human shield," she said dryly. "But sure, trophy works too." She pulled out her phone, checking something briefly. "If you spot something relevant or suspicious person, odd transaction, whatever signal me with subtle physical contact. Touch my arm, adjust my necklace. Looks couple-y, I get the message."
She demonstrated, reaching over to straighten his already-straight tie with practiced efficiency. The gesture looked familiar, routine. It was entirely mechanical.
"See? Natural." She stepped back.
"Questions?"
Adrian studied her. Every movement precise, every expression calibrated just enough to seem human without wasting energy on actual warmth. "Just one. Do you ever actually feel anything, or is this whole pleasant-person thing just really good training?"
Her smile didn't waver. Just stayed there, steady and empty. "Does it matter?" She said it lightly, almost curious. "We've got a job. Whether I'm feeling warm and fuzzy about it or just going through the motions, the result's the same. We look like a couple, the mission succeeds, nobody dies. Mostly."
She tilted her head slightly. "You're grieving. It's obvious posture, eye contact, the way you hold tension. That actually works for our cover. You'll seem distracted, less threatening. Makes you more believable."
She said it the way a coach might point out a useful injury. "Just don't let it slow your reaction time. I'd rather not scrape you off the floor later."
There was something almost kind in the practicality. Like she was trying to be helpful in the only way she knew how.
Then, without warning, she stepped into his space and pulled him into a side hug.
Heat crawled up Adrian's neck before he could even process what was happening. She had him pinned before he could react.
Her scent hit him: sharp and confusing. Gunpowder and metal, like the aftermath of a fired round, tangled with faint spice and something floral jasmine, maybe. Arabian. Expensive. Dangerous.
"What the hell—" he started.
"Relax," she said, her tone practical. "We're supposed to be dating. Gotta sell it." Her hand settled against his waist with casual confidence. "If anyone's watching from the venue, we need to look comfortable. First impressions."
His throat tightened. "Yeah... whatever."
She pulled back, looking at him with mild amusement. "What, never had a girl hug you? You look like you're about to spontaneously combust." Her tone was teasing, but not cruel. More like she found his discomfort mildly entertaining.
He exhaled somewhere between a groan and a laugh.
Never confessed, never looked weak, never blushed.
And now?
Tomato.
Bloody tomato.
Great.
"There. Now we look like an actual couple." She stepped back, adjusting her clutch. "See? Not that compli—"
Movement in the shadows.
A figure stepped out a boy, no older than seven. Dark hair, pale blue eyes that looked too old for his face. Clothes worn but not filthy.
"Sir... would you like to buy my sandwich, please?" His voice was thin, rehearsed.
Adrian's instincts kicked in. He crouched, already reaching for his wallet. "Here, kid—"
"Stop."
The shift was instant.
The pleasantness vanished. Aveline's entire demeanor changed like someone had cut power to a machine. Her expression went flat, empty.
She drew her pistol in one fluid motion, leveling it at the boy with mechanical calm.
"Back off—"
BANG!
The bullet whizzed past the boy's ear, embedding into brick with a sharp crack. The kid froze, eyes wide, face drained.
Aveline's face remained blank. Not angry. Not amused. Just... nothing. "Shame. I missed." Her voice was flat, conversational.
Adrian snapped upright, horror flooding through him. "Are you insane? He's just a kid!"
She turned to look at him, and the emptiness in her eyes was chilling. "Even if it's a kid, you don't know if that sandwich is laced with poison. Or if he's a scout. Or if touching him triggers contact toxin." She holstered the gun with mechanical precision. "I don't take unnecessary risks and neither should you."
The boy bit Adrian's hand hard, desperately before bolting into the dark.
Adrian groaned, clutching his bleeding hand. "You shot at a child."
"Past. I shot past him. There's a difference." She pulled a medical kit from her clutch with practiced efficiency. "And now you've got a bite wound. Hold still."
She grabbed his hand not gently, not roughly. Just efficiently. She cleaned it with antiseptic, her movements clinical.
"Human bites infect easily. Mouths are filthy." She wrapped gauze around it, fingers steady. "Monitor for infection. Redness, swelling, fever. If it gets worse, antibiotics." She said it like reading from a manual.
"There. Functional." She released his hand, checked her watch. "That wasted five minutes. We need to move."
Adrian stared at her. The whiplash was brutal. Pleasant efficiency one moment, cold violence the next.
"What the hell are you?" he asked quietly.
She looked at him, something calculating behind her eyes. Then a slight smile returned not warm, just... present. "Someone who keeps us both alive. Now come on. We're going to be late."
She started walking toward the entrance.
Adrian stared at her back for a long moment.
Then, against every screaming instinct, he followed.
18:15 PM | Entrance Hallway
Golden sconces cast long shadows on marble floors. Champagne flutes sparkled. Laughter drifted hollow, performative.
Aveline's pleasant mask was back in place. Not overly warm, just... functional.
Appropriate.
A guard stepped forward. "Credentials?"
Aveline produced an invitation smoothly. "Here." Her tone was pleasant, cooperative, nothing more.
The guard examined it, then looked at Adrian. "And him?"
"He's with me. My date." She slipped her arm through Adrian's with practiced ease. "He's harmless. Mostly here for the free drinks." A slight smile not dazzling, just polite.
The guard stepped aside. "Enjoy your evening."
"Thanks." She guided Adrian forward.
Once out of earshot, her voice dropped slightly. "Easy. Stay close, look bored during the boring parts, signal if you see anything useful."
Adrian glanced at her. The smile was still there pleasant, controlled, empty.
Terrifying. Brilliant. Completely unhinged.
And I'm still following her.
18:20 PM | Gala Interior
Chandeliers scattered light across gold. Roses and sandalwood mixed with wine and money. Every guest looked like a secret wrapped in silk.
Aveline's hand found his again not affectionate, just... practical. Looked right. Her gaze swept the room, sharp and calculating, but her face remained pleasantly neutral.
"Not bad," she commented, like she was evaluating real estate.
Adrian followed her gaze. "It's something."
"Three exits. Cameras everywhere. Guards rotate every twelve minutes. Glock 19s." She said it quietly, casually, like commenting on the décor. Then, normal volume: "Want champagne? Might as well enjoy the perks."
"Sure."
As they moved through the crowd, Aveline was efficient. She smiled when it was useful, made small talk when necessary, laughed at appropriate moments. Nothing excessive. Nothing wasted.
And Adrian realized: she wasn't trying to be charming.
She was just executing a protocol. Perfectly.
His thoughts drifted.
Part Italian. In a room full of criminals. La Sangre Nera would call that betrayal.
He filed it away.
Aveline glanced up at him. "You alright? Looking tense."
"I'm fine."
"Good." A brief squeeze of his hand practical, not affectionate. "Just remember to look like you're enjoying yourself. Or at least tolerating it. Same difference."
She said it with dry practicality.
Adrian nodded.
And followed the viper of a woman deeper into the Veil Society Gala.