18:35 PM | Dinner Table Discussion
The mahogany gleamed beneath candlelight. Servants moved in near silence, plates arranged like art pieces. Crystal clinked softly. Conversation hummed at a low, conspiratorial pitch the sound of people who had things to hide and money to spend hiding them.
Aveline settled into her seat with economical grace, smoothing her dress once before reaching for her water glass. Adrian sat beside her, trying to look like someone who belonged at a table where the silverware probably cost more than his monthly salary.
She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something just audible to him. Not intimate practical. "See the woman in red? Three tables over, ten o'clock."
Adrian glanced casually in that direction. A blonde woman, severe features, expensive jewelry that looked more like armor than adornment.
"That's Voronova Region territory," Aveline continued, her tone matter-of-fact, almost academic. "North Ironcliff. Russian and Italian roots. Rivals of La Sangre Nera. Old alliances, bad blood, territorial disputes that go back decades. Lots of bodies buried in that feud."
She paused, took a sip of water. Her gaze tracked the woman with clinical precision.
"Their leader..." Her voice shifted slightly.not warmer, but more... focused. Like she was describing something technically impressive. "Blonde as winter light. Eyes like fractured crystal—blue, but cold. The kind that don't blink when they should."
Her fingers traced the stem of her water glass absently, a rare unconscious gesture.
"She moves like a storm in a glass cage. Controlled violence. You see her coming, but you can't look away." A pause. "She can command artillery with a whisper, runs half the Ironcliff armory under false contracts and shell companies. Controlled chaos is her specialty. Very efficient operation."
Adrian stared at her. She's describing a criminal warlord like she's reviewing a colleague's quarterly performance.
"You sound almost... impressed," he said carefully.
Her gaze flicked to him, expression neutral. "Respect isn't admiration. It's acknowledging competence." She set down her glass with precise placement. "You don't survive Voronova territory without understanding how she operates. Underestimating her would be stupid. I don't do stupid."
Fair point, but still creepy as hell.
He smirked despite himself. "Why are you in the C.R.I.M.E. division again? You should just write intelligence briefs on dangerous women. Seems like a passion project."
Her head turned slowly, deliberately. That side-eye could have stripped paint off walls.
"Funny." Her tone was flat, but there was the faintest edge of amusement buried somewhere deep. She picked up her champagne glass, took a measured sip.
"Stick to looking pretty and observing. Leave the analysis to people who won't get themselves killed doing it."
She said it without malice. Just... practical assessment.
A server appeared, placing the first course in front of them with practiced silence. Aveline examined it briefly not with pleasure, just cataloging. Food as fuel.
"Eat," she said quietly. "We need to look normal. And you'll need energy if things go sideways later."
"Optimistic."
"Realistic." She picked up her fork with precise efficiency. "Things always go sideways. It's just a question of when and how badly."
18:55 PM | Main Hall
Dinner progressed with the slow, agonizing pace of formal events. Courses appeared and disappeared. Conversation flowed around them shallow, careful, everyone performing for everyone else.
Aveline played her part with mechanical perfection. She made polite small talk with nearby guests, smiled at appropriate moments, laughed softly when socially required. Nothing excessive. Nothing wasted. Every gesture served a purpose.
Adrian found himself studying her. The way she mirrored people's body language just enough to put them at ease. The way she timed her responses with mathematical precision. The way she could make eye contact that felt engaged without actually being engaged.
It was like watching someone run code.
Then, from a nearby table, a voice cut through the ambient noise harsh, arrogant, deliberately loud.
"Mongrels like this bring disgrace to the Canadian pureblood."
Adrian's gaze snapped to the source. A man sharp-faced, expensive suit, cruel mouth. Cedric. He was gesturing dismissively toward their general direction, though not looking directly at them.
"They don't know a thing about being pure. Probably can't even trace their lineage back three generations without hitting a brothel or a boat." Laughter from his table, sycophantic and ugly.
Aveline went very, very still.
Adrian felt it before he saw it the shift in air pressure, like the moment before lightning strikes. Her pleasant mask didn't slip. It just... stopped. Became neutral. Blank.
The champagne glass in her hand cracked.
Not shattered just cracked. A soft, wet sound. Blood began pooling down her wrist as shards bit into her palm, red against ivory silk and cream dress.
Adrian flinched. She didn't.
She set the broken glass down with careful precision, pulled a strip of gauze from her clutch of course she had gauze and began wrapping her hand. Her movements were steady, methodical. Not from pain management. From restraint.
As she worked, the fabric of her dress shifted slightly. Adrian caught glimpses of scars beneath the silk pale lines, puckered tissue, old burns, what looked like bullet marks poorly concealed by expensive fabric and careful tailoring.
And here I was thinking I had it rough.
Her body was a map of violence survived. And right now, every line of that map was screaming one message: murder.
She finished wrapping her hand, smoothed her dress, and stood with fluid grace. Her expression was perfectly pleasant. Perfectly controlled. Perfectly empty.
The man laughed again, still oblivious. Fatal mistake.
Aveline's smile was a precision instrument polite, calm, terrifying in its absolute lack of emotion.
This idiot doesn't even realize he's poked a viper.
She excused herself from the table with quiet politeness. "I'll be right back. Powder room."
Adrian watched her go, already knowing what was about to happen.
Moments later, Cedric excused himself. Washroom.
Adrian counted to ten, then stood. "I'll... check on her. Make sure she's alright."
Nobody questioned it. Concerned boyfriend, checking on his date. Perfectly normal.
He followed the direction they'd gone, footsteps quiet on marble.
18:58 PM | Washroom Corridor
The corridor was quieter here, muffled from the main hall. Expensive wallpaper, soft lighting, the kind of tasteful décor that cost a fortune to look understated.
Adrian found the men's washroom door slightly ajar. No sound from inside.
Should I?
Shouldn't I?
Curiosity and something like morbid fascination won.
He pushed the door open just enough to see inside.
18:58 PM | Washroom Interior
Cedric was frozen against the sink, face pale, eyes wide with the sudden understanding that he'd made a catastrophic error in judgment.
Aveline stood behind him, one knee pressed with surgical precision against his lower abdomen not quite his groin, but near enough to make the threat unmistakable. A knife was at his throat, the blade catching fluorescent light. Not pressed hard enough to cut. Not yet.
The scent hit Adrian even from the doorway: gunpowder, spice, jasmine, mixed now with Cedric's fear-sweat and the sharp tang of adrenaline.
Her face was completely calm. Not angry. Not satisfied. Just... blank. Focused. Like she was performing a medical procedure.
"Move, speak, or flinch," she said quietly, her voice pleasant and utterly devoid of inflection, "and I won't act so kindly."
Cedric's reflection in the mirror was pure terror. Her reflection was perfect composure.
She leaned closer, the knife adjusting with minute precision. "Say that again," she murmured, tone still pleasant, still empty. "About mongrels. About purity. I'd love to hear it one more time."
He tried to speak. Only a strangled sound escaped.
Her lips curved into something that looked like a smile but wasn't. "No? Nothing to add?" She tilted her head slightly, curious. "That's disappointing. You were so articulate before."
The knife pressed fractionally closer not cutting, just reminding.
"Let me be clear," she continued, her voice remaining that same pleasant, helpful tone. "You can insult whoever you want out there. Free country. But if you're going to run your mouth about bloodlines and purity..." The smile widened slightly. "Make sure you know whose blood you're discussing."
She held the position for one more eternal second.
Then, with the same mechanical precision, she withdrew. The knife disappeared into some hidden fold of her dress. The knee released. She stepped back smoothly, adjusting her clutch as if she'd just finished checking her makeup.
Cedric sagged against the sink, gasping, trembling.
Aveline examined her gauze-wrapped hand briefly, adjusting it with clinical efficiency. Then she met his eyes in the mirror one last time.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening," she said pleasantly.
She turned, saw Adrian in the doorway, and didn't even blink.
"Ready?" she asked, tone perfectly normal. "We should get back before they serve the next course. I think it's duck."
She walked past him into the corridor, leaving Cedric pale and shaking behind her.
Adrian stood there for a moment, processing what he'd just witnessed.
She threatened a man with a knife. In a public washroom. At a formal gala. And now she's worried about missing duck.
He followed her back into the hallway.
She glanced at him, expression mildly curious. "You alright? You look pale."
"I'm... processing."
"Mm. Understandable." She adjusted her dress, checked her reflection in a hallway mirror, smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle. "He'll be fine. Might need new pants, but fine."
"You held a knife to his throat."
"Near his throat. There's a difference." She said it the way someone might correct a minor factual error. "If I'd held it to his throat, there'd be blood. There wasn't. Therefore, restraint."
Her logic was airtight and completely insane.
"Right," Adrian said slowly. "Restraint. That's... one word for it."
She looked at him, something calculating in her eyes. "He insulted me. Publicly. I corrected his behavior. Privately. He learned a lesson, nobody died, we go back to dinner. This is what's called 'proportional response.'"
"Proportional."
"Relatively speaking." A slight shrug. "I could have done worse. I didn't. That's growth."
She said it with absolutely no irony.
Adrian just stared at her.
She tilted her head, expression shifting to something almost... concerned? Possibly? Hard to tell. "Look, if this is too much for you, I can handle the rest solo. You can go back, play the 'concerned boyfriend who had to leave early,' and nobody questions it. Your call."
She said it matter-of-factly. Not dismissive. Just... offering options.
Adrian thought about it. Thought about Marcus. About the winking emoticon. About the files full of horrors. About the fact that Nexo was selling apocalypse by the vial in the room next door.
"I'm staying," he said.
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Approval, maybe. Or just acknowledgment that he'd made a tactically sound choice.
"Good," she said simply. "Then let's get back. We've got an auction to observe."
She offered her arm. The same arm that had just held a man at knifepoint.
Adrian took it.
They walked back into the main hall together, two sharp shadows moving in perfect sync.
To anyone watching, they looked like a couple returning from a brief absence. Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening.
Just another pair of beautiful monsters at a party full of them.
19:15 PM | Return to Main Hall
They slipped back into their seats just as servers appeared with the next course. Aveline sat with perfect posture, reached for her wine glass with her bandaged hand, and took a measured sip.
"Duck," she confirmed, glancing at the plate. "Called it."
Across the room, Cedric returned to his table. He was pale, quiet, and didn't look in their direction for the rest of the evening.
Aveline cut into her food with precise movements, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. "Not bad. Little dry, but the sauce helps."
Adrian just stared at her.
She glanced at him. "What? I'm hungry. Threatening people burns calories." She said it completely deadpan.
He let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "You're insane."
"Functional," she corrected and took another bite. "Eat. You'll need your strength. Auction starts in fifteen minutes, and that's when things get interesting."
She said it like she was looking forward to it.
Adrian picked up his fork.
Marcus died for this. So let's make it count.
19:30 PM | Pre-Auction Preparation
The dining hall began to empty as guests migrated toward the auction room. Conversations shifted quieter, more focused. The performative charm dropped a degree. Now it was business.
Aveline stood, smoothing her dress with her good hand. The bandaged one hung at her side, blood having seeped through slightly, a small dark stain against white gauze.
"Ready?" she asked.
Adrian stood. "As I'll ever be."
Her hand found his careful of the bandage, but firm. To anyone watching, it looked like a couple holding hands. Comfortable. Natural.
Her grip was cool, steady, controlled.
"Remember," she said quietly as they walked, "you're observing. I'm participating. If you see something worth noting, signal. Otherwise, just look bored and wealthy. You're doing fine so far."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"It's not confidence. It's assessment." A pause. "But you're doing better than most partners I've worked with. Most of them panic by now."
"Should I be flattered or concerned?"
"Both, probably." The faintest hint of amusement in her tone.
They entered the auction hall a smaller, more intimate space. Velvet chairs arranged in neat rows. A raised platform at the front. Lighting designed to make everything look valuable and slightly sinister.
Aveline guided them to seats in the middlebnot too close, not too far back. Strategic positioning.
As they sat, her hand rested lightly on Adrian's knee beneath the table. To observers, it looked affectionate, possessive even.
Her grip tightened just slightly. A reminder.
Stay in character.
Don't fuck this up.
The auctioneer stepped onto the platform, impeccably dressed, smile sharp as a blade.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Welcome to this evening's exclusive presentation. We have some truly exceptional items for your consideration tonight."
Aveline leaned closer to Adrian, her breath warm against his ear. To anyone watching, it looked intimate.
"Here we go," she whispered.
The gavel came down with a sharp, echoing
BANG!
The auction had begun.