Eleanor's POV
The next day.
I stepped out of the black car, the building looming before me like a monument to everything I was pretending to be. The auction house was all designed to intimidate before you even walked through the doors. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. But I couldn't show it.
We moved through the lobby, my father leading the way. He approached the registration desk, exchanging words with the impeccably dressed staff who processed our details with the quiet efficiency of people used to handling the supernatural elite. They handed each of us a numbered card—our bidding credentials.
My father turned to me, his expression a mixture of warning and disdain. "Do not forget your manners in there," he said, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "And I hope your brain is sharp enough to actually understand what happens today. Do not embarrass me."
