Fake laughs that could barely be heard, and the clear disdain everyone had for each other; this gala wasn’t your style, nor was it Lisbon’s, but, she said it herself. It’d all be worth it once the suspect was caught.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one who hates this,” Lisbon muttered under her breath; a flute of yellow-ish tinted champagne in one of her swift hands, the other fidgeting with her pale-gold cross necklace, which contrasted against the dark fabric of her cocktail dress