KAEL'S POV
The moment I stepped through the threshold, silence struck like a blade.
The laughter, the music, the soft rustle of silk skirts brushing against polished stone—all of it vanished in an instant, as though the air itself had forgotten how to breathe.
The rhythmic shuffle of leather soles, the faint jingle of waist-chained keys and silver bangles, the quiet thud of boot heels wrapped in velvet—all silenced mid-note.
Even the usual morning breeze that swept through the open arches seemed to still.
Dozens of dancers turned. Their faces froze, then lit up with varying degrees of surprise, curiosity, and something else—calculated delight.
They bowed, slow and theatrical, corsets creaking with movement, some placing hands delicately to their chests, others curtsying with far too much flourish for something so casual. Perfume thickened the air with every wave of their skirts. I heard the breathy sighs, the feigned gasps. And then the whispers began.
