¬ Fashire
The open lounge sat high on the eastern tower, far enough above the festival that the music and laughter reached us only as a distant, murmuring hum. The fireworks high above were disruptive but manageable due to the cool night air. Lanterns drifted somewhere below, tiny specks of gold against the darkness.
I had been planning the final night's logistics with Dana and the others since dawn.
I was tired.
And it wasn't because of all that planning.
Elise Gremlin sat across from me, her emerald fan folded in her lap. She had not touched her wine. She appeared carefully composed, but the set of her jaw betrayed her.
Lorn and the others occupied the wide arc of cushioned seats in various states of unease. Some nursed their drinks. None of them seemed inclined to speak first.
