Ghosting your hand over the pistol you knew you had secured under your dress, you sauntered through the gala hall, nodding with a tight smile to those guests who got too close for comfort and taking a flute of champagne off of the tray of a passing server, drinking it with far too much gusto for the well-mannered lady you were masquerading as. You jumped as a gloved hand came to rest on the small of your back, shooting a glare at the figure who came to stand beside you with that familiarly infuriating chuckle.

“Easy on the liquor now, sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll be much more useful if you’re lucid.”

Ignoring the way you stamped on his foot with the tip of your heel, his own hand came to rest over the gun he knew you had strapped to your thigh, his other reaching over your shoulder to tap gently on the earpiece you had fitted, connected directly to his.

“Let’s make this fun, hm? A friendly wager? I bet I can find the target before you can. And I bet I can kill the old man before you’ve finished your second drink. What do you say?”