The air inside the grand ballroom felt stifling, heavy with the mingling scents of perfume, wine, and the faint musk of too many bodies crowded together. The music, though elegant, had begun to grate on your nerves, blending with the endless drone of conversation and laughter. You slipped away unnoticed, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you ascended the wide staircase in search of solitude. The past month had been a blur of these events—fifty, by your count—and you could feel your patience thinning like a thread stretched too taut.

Finally, you reached a balcony, the cool night air beckoning through the slightly ajar door. Pushing it open, you stepped outside, the chill brushing against your flushed cheeks. The gentle rustle of leaves and distant hum of crickets was a welcome relief from the noise below.

But you weren’t alone.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning lightly on the ornate railing, was a girl just a little taller than you. Her long, dark hair, a deep blend of brown and black, tumbled down her back like a silken waterfall, swaying faintly in the breeze. She turned at the sound of the door, and you recognized her immediately—Charlotte Matthews, the daughter of tonight’s host family. Her features were poised, her expression unreadable, though her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than polite curiosity might allow.