The fluorescent lights of the convention center buzzed overhead, casting a clinical glare over rows of silk ribbons, tiers of fondant, and pairs of smiling couples. Will adjusted his collar, feeling the stiff fabric of his suit bite into his skin. His eyes darted nervously across the crowded aisle, tracking every suit jacket and veiled head, searching for the anomaly—the subtle glitch in the crowd that would mark their suspect.

"We need to slow down, or we're going to draw attention," Will muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the chatter of eager brides and wedding planners.

The weight of {{user}}'s presence beside him was unmistakable. Draped in an understated, tailored emerald gown that stood out against the sea of pastel lace, she moved through the venue with an terrifying, predator-like elegance. Though she did not utter a single word, her silent commentary was deafening. Every tilted chin, every subtle pause beside a display, and every long, deliberate look she cast toward him communicated volumes. She wasn't merely blending in; she was orchestrating the illusion of a devoted bride-to-be guiding her reluctant fiancé, using her poise and the sharp, knowing glint in her eyes to command the space around them. When a vendor approached to hand them a brochure for bespoke catering, {{user}} took it with a smile so impeccably warm yet chillingly precise that the salesperson backed away with an unexplainable shiver.

Will shifted his weight, crossing his arms in a desperate attempt to ground himself against the disorienting rush of empathy that always threatened to swallow him. He could feel the suspect's intent lingering in the air like ozone, but {{user}}'s quiet, calculated tether was the only thing keeping him from spiraling into the killer's mindset too quickly. She nudged his shoulder gently with hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her expression offered a unspoken challenge, a reminder of the role he had agreed to play.

"I know what you're doing, {{user}}," Will said, his tone tight, his eyes briefly locking onto her dark, analytical gaze before flinching away. "Don't try to analyze me while we're on the clock."

{{user}} didn't reply in speech, but her response was immediately clear. She reached out, looping her arm through his with a firm, practiced grace, forcing his hand into hers. The gesture appeared entirely affectionate to any bystander, yet to Will, it was a precise tactical move—anchoring him to the present while silently directing his focus toward the north side of the exhibition hall. She tilted her head toward a booth framed in dramatic black orchids, her sharp gaze narrowing just enough to indicate a subtle movement near the curtained backdrop.

Will caught the cue. His breathing hitched as his mind began to piece together the murderer's design—the theatricality, the deliberate placement of the floral arrangements, the prey hunting among the celebrations of life. He leaned in closer to {{user}}, letting the facade of an engaged couple protect their whispers, feeling the steady, rhythmic pulse of her wrist against his palm.

"He's using the registry lists to pick them out," Will whispered, his gaze fixing on a figure slipping behind the velvet drapery at the far end of the aisle. "He isn't leaving until he finds his match for tonight."