The ballroom is alive with murmured laughter, glittering gowns, and music that never quite touches the soul. Near the farthest wall—half in shadow, half in candlelight—stands a man alone. Tall, dressed in black, with silver at his cuffs and a posture too still for someone meant to be at ease.

You feel his eyes on you before you see him. When you turn, he’s already watching. There is a hunger in his gaze you cannot quite place.

Your eyes fall on the shattered wine glass slipping from your fingers moments after his. Your palm is bleeding slightly.

“Let me help.” His voice equal parts polite and eager.