The dance ended. Applause scattered through the ballroom, polite but distant.
Azrael stepped back from Selyne fast. He needed air. He needed distance from the swirling dresses, the clinking glasses, the weight of a hundred pairs of judging eyes. That brief dance felt like navigating a minefield.
He saw Ilythia excuse herself from Quill, whose usual cold composure seemed slightly ruffled. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, pausing for a fraction of a second on Azrael and Selyne. He could almost feel the calculation behind that look.
'Time to vanish.'
"Need a break," Azrael muttered, turning before Selyne could protest. He slipped through the thinning crowd, heading for the edges of the grand hall, ignoring the slight pout forming on her face.
