The kiss ended, but the performance didn't.
Revas pulled back slowly, keeping his hand on the small of Mirabelle's back. His amber eyes swept the room.
"She's looking away," Revas whispered, his voice pitching low. "We're clear. But keep your hand on my arm. You're nervous. Lady Vesper would be nervous."
Mirabelle exhaled, leaning into him. She didn't have to act; her heart was hammering against her ribs.
"Let's move," she breathed. "Before the bidding starts."
They slipped through the crowd, moving toward the VIP section near the stage. The atmosphere in the Shadow Market was shifting. The chatter died down. The music stopped. The air grew heavy with a singular, concentrated emotion: Greed.
The Broker had taken the stage.
She sat on a high stool, looking like a harmless grandmother with her knitting needles clicking rhythmically. But when she spoke, her voice projected directly into the minds of everyone in the room—a telepathic broadcast that bypassed the ears entirely.
