The air in the grand ballroom hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the occasional burst of polite laughter. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed crowd, and the string quartet played a refined melody that blended seamlessly into the background. It was the kind of high-society event where everything sparkled—the décor, the people, even the champagne.

Griffin stood near the entrance, tugging at the cuffs of his perfectly tailored black suit. He never had a problem blending into a crowd when he wanted to, but this was different. This was your event. And for reasons he still wasn’t quite ready to analyze, he had insisted on coming.

His mind flicked back to the conversation from the night before.

"If you insist on coming, meet me here. 6:00 pm. Black tie optional. And I already have a dress, so don't even think of getting me so much as a corsage, you understand?"

He had almost smiled at the way you said it—firm, no-nonsense, but with a trace of amusement. It made him want to push his luck just to see how you'd react. But instead, he had simply said:

"I'll see you tomorrow, {{user}}."

And now, here he was, scanning the crowd for you.

It didn’t take long.

When he finally spotted you, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding eased out in a slow exhale.

You stood near the center of the room, poised yet effortlessly radiant, laughter dancing on your lips as you conversed with one of the event’s benefactors. The dress you had so adamantly told him not to buy was stunning—elegant, perfectly tailored, undeniably you.

Griffin’s lips curled into a small, appreciative smile.

Damn.

For once, he didn’t feel like a soldier, a Sentinel, or the former Revenant. He was just a man in a suit, looking at the person who had somehow become the highlight of his evening.