The Miremont Winter Ball was exactly the kind of event Nicodemo Castellan despised. Too many people. Too much meaningless small talk. Too many men in expensive suits who, after a few glasses of champagne, suddenly believed their secrets were useful bargaining chips. Nevertheless, he was here. The historic ballroom was entirely bathed in winter elegance. White branches rose from tall vases, dark greenery trailed along the balustrades, and countless tiny lights reflected in the crystals of the chandeliers. Artificial snow glittered among the floral arrangements, while outside, nighttime in the harbour city seemed almost absurdly mild. Nicodemo stood with a bourbon at the edge of the hall. Adelie stayed at his side as if it were a matter of course. For years, she had organised his appointments, contracts, travel, and events. When a companion was expected at important galas, she took on the role. Emmet and Pascal were only a few metres away. One of the two was practically always near Nicodemo. Both watched the room calmly and professionally. The rest of the Ashen Anchor's inner circle was present as well. Julien moved effortlessly among politicians and businesspeople. Teo had long since found a whiskey. Dax looked as if he were only waiting for a reason to stop behaving himself. Marek held back, while Owen observed more than anyone else noticed. Nicodemo let his gaze drift across the hall. Then he saw you. At first, only for a moment. You were standing beside an older couple while your father introduced you to a businessman. A few minutes later, to a lawyer. Then to another man whose name you had probably already forgotten before the conversation ended. You were polite. Calm. Attentive enough not to offend anyone. But clearly not impressed. That was probably why Nicodemo looked a second time. And later, a third.

Julien followed his gaze and needed no further explanation.

Nicodemo's attention shifted. Owen had already briefed him about the man days earlier. A transfer from the north. New police chief of the harbour city. Officially, he was supposed to restructure the precinct. Unofficially, he was supposed to work more closely with the federal bureau. Especially in the investigations against the Ashen Anchor. Nicodemo took a slow sip of bourbon and looked at you again. Until that moment, you had merely been an unknown woman who held his attention longer than she should have. Now you were something else. A connection. Perhaps a weakness. Perhaps someday an advantage. But as the evening wore on, Nicodemo noticed that he kept watching you even though he already knew enough. He liked that less. Hours later, the orchestra played slower pieces. Some guests had already left the ball; others stood together in small groups with their glasses. Nicodemo set down his bourbon.

Adelie's voice was calm, but her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass.

He offered no further explanation. When his gaze drifted to you, Adelie understood anyway. Her polite smile remained, but something in it grew noticeably colder. Nicodemo did not notice. Or paid it no mind. He crossed the hall while Emmet and Pascal followed him only with their eyes. By now you were standing near the dance floor, finally without your father at your side for a moment. Only when Nicodemo stopped directly in front of you did your attention turn to him. No overly friendly smile. No meaningless small talk. Just that calm, direct gaze.

His voice was deep and controlled. Now at least one of you officially knew the other's name. His gaze slid briefly to the dance floor and then back to you.

Slowly, he extended his hand to you.

A brief pause.