**Savannah’s POV**
The Grand Ballroom was the kind of place designed to make you feel the weight of your own insignificance.
Crystal chandeliers hung in tiers above the crowd, throwing light in every direction at once — catching on jewelry, on champagne glasses, on the carefully maintained surfaces of people who had spent decades learning how to look exactly right in rooms exactly like this one.
The ceiling was vaulted, the floor was pale marble, and the music from the string quartet in the far corner moved through the air like it owned the place.
Leo’s message arrived sixty seconds before I walked through the door.
*Northern border — rogue attack, three young members injured, I have to coordinate the emergency response team.
I’m so sorry Savannah.
I really am.*
Then a string of emoji that went on for three lines.
Very Leo.
I read it twice, standing just outside the entrance with the noise of the ballroom seeping through the doors, and I thought about turning around and driving back to my apartment and taking off the silver dress and pretending this evening had never been scheduled.
Then I put the phone in my evening bag, smoothed the front of the dress with both hands, and walked in.
The dress moved the way Leo had promised it would — liquid, responsive, catching the light from the chandeliers as I walked and throwing it back differently with each step.
I was aware of it in the way you’re aware of armor.
It changed how I held myself, which was probably the point.
What it didn’t change was the absence.
No pack scent.
No wolf marker.
No bloodline signature broadcasting itself into the room the way every other person in this hall was doing automatically, without trying, just by being who they were.
In a space full of werewolves at a formal gathering, that absence was loud.
You couldn’t hear it, but they could feel it, and their eyes found me the way water finds low ground — naturally, without effort, without any particular intention.
Fine.
Let them look.
“Is that who I think it is—”
“—no scent at all, not even a trace—”
“—heard she’s been living human for six years—”
I kept my pace even, kept my chin level, moved through the whispers the way you move through smoke.
It thins if you don’t stop in it.
Leo had reserved a table in the VIP section, which I located without difficulty because it was positioned at the kind of elevation and angle that made it visible from most of the room.
I’d have words with Leo about that later.
I recognized him before I was close enough for it to be reasonable.
Just the outline, just the set of his shoulders in a black formal jacket — the kind of tailored cut that made the geometry of his frame impossible to miss.
Dark hair combed back, every angle of his face exposed.
Declan was seated at the VIP table with two Alliance officials on one side, and on the other—
Celeste.
In deep blue, her light chestnut hair pinned up, her hand resting on the table approximately three centimeters from his.
Positioned like a statement.
I had about four seconds before the distance closed and this became a conversation.
I used them to locate the exact neutral expression I needed and put it on.
Declan looked up.
His eyes found me the way they always seemed to find me in a room — not searching, not scanning, just arriving directly, like he’d known where to look before he looked.
And they stopped.
One beat.
Two.
Something moved through his expression that I catalogued and filed away before I let myself think about what to do with it.
Then Celeste’s voice arrived, three seconds ahead of where it should have been, pitched at that specific frequency she used when she wanted warmth to sound effortless.
“Savannah!
Oh, you came alone?” Her fingers shifted on the table, closing the three centimeters of space until her hand rested against Declan’s arm.
The gesture was for me.
I understood its grammar completely.
“I thought Leo was supposed to bring you — what happened?
Did he cancel last minute?”
“Emergency response,” I said simply.
“Rogue attack on the northern border.”
“Oh, how awful.” Her expression arranged itself into concern. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Well, you’re here now.
That dress is very…” She paused, just long enough.
“Simple.”
My eyes moved to Celeste’s blue gown, took it in for exactly the time it deserved, and moved on.
The Alliance officials at the table were watching this with the polite attention of people who understand they’re witnessing something and have decided to observe rather than participate.
Declan said nothing.
But I felt his gaze on my face, steady and very still.
“Some people don’t need crystal to catch light,” I said.
The words came out easy, unhurried, landed where they landed.
I gave them both a single nod — Celeste, then Declan.
“Heir.
Celeste.
If you’ll excuse me.” I glanced toward the terrace doors at the far end of the room.
“I need some air.”
I turned.
The silver hem followed me.
Behind me, I heard Celeste say something in a voice pitched too low for human ears but not for mine.
I didn’t catch the words.
I didn’t need to — I knew the shape of what she’d say, had heard variations of it since we were teenagers.
The words changed.
The intention never did.
What I did catch, just before the ambient noise of the ballroom swallowed everything, was the distinct absence of Declan’s voice responding to whatever she’d said.
He hadn’t answered her.
I filed that away too, in the same place I’d put the look, in the part of me that was keeping careful track of things I’d told myself didn’t matter while stubbornly continuing to notice them.
The terrace doors were ahead of me.
Cool air coming through the gap between them.
I walked toward it, and the silver skirt followed every step.