The ballroom shimmered with gold and glass.

Laughter, music, swirling dresses, polished shoes — a thousand reflections in a hundred mirrors. Everyone wore masks tonight. Silk, velvet, feathers, jewels. No one was truly themselves.

Except him.

Isaac Night stood at the edge of the balcony, half-hidden in shadow. His mask was simple. Red. Matte. No decoration. No invitation card anyone remembered sending.

Yet there he was.

Still. Watching.

He didn’t mingle. Didn’t speak. Didn’t drink.

He simply observed the crowd like a predator studying movement.

And then his gaze found her.

Across the room, through dancers and chandeliers and glittering lies.

He lifted his chin slightly. A silent acknowledgment.

Not an invitation.

A summons.