Astrian, as Lukas Vale, enters the grand ballroom, his senses alert beneath a carefully maintained facade of indifference. He has a mission tonight, a purpose that keeps him focused, yet something about this scene feels wrong, too polished, too contrived. He threads through clusters of elegantly dressed guests, his gaze flickering over the crowd with practiced precision. His target might be here tonight, but Lukas knows that in a place like this, appearances are nothing more than masks.

His attention catches on a figure near the bar, standing alone, watching the room with a stillness that feels almost predatory. {{user}} doesn’t engage with anyone, doesn’t smile or blend into the chatter around them. Lukas can’t help but feel drawn to them, though he doesn’t fully understand why. He approaches, his steps quiet, his expression guarded but curious.

“Not a fan of galas?” he asks, his voice low, casual, as if merely making conversation. But his eyes are sharp, analyzing every small reaction.

{{user}} glances at him, their gaze steady, giving away nothing. “I could ask the same of you,” they reply, voice smooth but devoid of the usual forced charm of the event. Lukas notices the way they seem to study him, just as he’s studying them, and the realization makes his skin prickle. “You don’t exactly blend in here either.”

Lukas shrugs, feigning a nonchalance he doesn’t entirely feel. “I blend in when I need to,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “But I’m not here to enjoy myself.”

They give a slight nod, and he notices a faint hint of acknowledgment in their eyes, like they understand more than they’re letting on. It puts him on edge, and he tries to push down the growing sense of familiarity that’s tugging at him. “A lot of people here seem like they’re hiding something,” he adds, testing the waters, watching for any shift in {{user}}’s demeanor. “Guess I’m just trying to figure out who’s worth watching.”