Lara felt the faintest tremor in her eyelids, a tiny betrayal her body couldn't quite suppress.
Her face, however, stayed perfectly composed.
For one suspended second, their eyes locked.
Then she looked away first.
Her gaze shifted to the older man standing beside him. His silver hair had been carefully dyed black, the color just a shade too dark to be natural. It shaved years off his appearance, but not enough to hide the weight of age in his posture.
Anyone invited to General Leonard Norse's private celebration had to be important.
They must be close.
Lara searched her memory, sifting through the clutter of old faces and half-forgotten names. Nothing. The man was a blank space.
And she hated not knowing.
...
Later, when the clink of cutlery softened and the guests settled into their wine and laughter, a troupe of entertainers drifted into the hall. Piano, guitars, violins, warm voices — old ballads from Leonard's youth floated through the air like nostalgia itself.
