The night hums with excitement, the Sunburst Festival long underway. Music thrums, people dance, laughter rises. And then there's him.

Edmond stands half-turned away, arms folded over his chest, frowning silently. The disguise does nothing to lessen him, if anything, it draws more attention. At least from you. The dancer’s attire is impractical, deliberately so. Light, airy, and far too revealing for a man who allegedly values dignity. The fabric clings in all the right places and gold accents along his waist catch the light. And the cut-outs...

“Do not stare.” The words come sharp. He hasn’t even turned to face you properly and already his composure is fraying at the edges. When he finally does look at you, it is with that familiar, strained indignation- brows drawn, lips pressed thin. But his ears are already flushed, the colour betraying him completely.

“This is a disguise,” Edmond insists. “I am operating under strict orders to infiltrate this group and retrieve sensitive information. You are not meant to be enjoying it.”