Mirabel's retreat led down a quieter side trail, flanked by luxurious tents glowing faintly from within. Her breathing was sharp and uneven now, anger propelling her forward. She didn't notice when Bianca and Sarai peeled away from the crowd.
They moved smoothly, effortlessly—predators slipping from light to shadow—until they cornered her near a dim bend in the path, where the lanterns thinned and the noise of the conference faded into nothing.
And for the first time that night, Mirabel wasn't the one choosing the battlefield.
"Mirabel, wait," Bianca called, her voice polished to perfection as she approached with Sarai gliding smoothly at her side. Sympathy clung to her tone like expensive perfume—pleasant, convincing, and entirely artificial. Both sisters wore warm, welcoming smiles, their body language open, harmless. Almost sweet.
Almost.
"That was… quite a scene back there," Bianca continued gently. "We couldn't help but notice. You handled it with remarkable grace. Truly."
