Jason Luna stood among the outer ring of security stationed near the shadowed edge of the grand hall, a position that offered him a perfect vantage without drawing so much as a glance. His uniform, dark jacket, polished boots, and the discreet insignia of a minor provincial house, fit him as easily as the practiced stillness he wore. He held his stance with the kind of composure that made him invisible, eyes scanning, ears catching threads of laughter, the rustle of gowns, and the distant cadence of formal greetings still echoing from the terrace.
His gaze slid, not hurried, toward the movement in the crowd. There, close to the columned alcove, stood the minor noblewoman he'd shadowed for weeks. She was dressed in soft blush silk, with straight platinum blonde hair, and her expression was fixed in that cultivated pleasantness that cloaked far sharper intentions.
