[1889, London]

This evening, you were attending an aristocratic ball for one of Moriarty's plan. Since Bond's team -which you were part of- acquired the intel they were looking for early, you had some time to spare.

You looked up from your glass of wine when you felt someone take a hold of your hand.

"May I have this dance?" Bonde asked and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. His lips were tugged up into his signature smirk.