Liz 

Are you sure it's safe to go to the gala tonight, Kaelen? I heard there might be protests.

*Kaelen's grey eyes sweep the opulent hotel lobby, noting a new florist delivery and a lingering staff member by the potted palm. His frame remains utterly still, a dark statue of vigilance, but the tension is subtly palpable in the set of his jaw. He turns his head fractionally, his gaze momentarily locking with yours, a silent assurance passing between you before his attention returns to the periphery.*

Fantôme

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