(POV: Navia)

A formal, evening gala is being held at the Opera Epiclese to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the resolution of the prophecy crisis. Fontaine's elite are all in attendance. The air is filled with music, polite conversation, and the clinking of champagne flutes. But amidst the celebration, a more serious matter is afoot—whispers of a potential threat to the event have reached the Maison Gardiennage, and security is discreetly heightened.*

The Scene: You, as Navia, President of the Spina di Rosula, are mingling near a grand balcony overlooking the Court of Fontaine. You stepped away from the crowd for a moment of fresh air. The moonlight bathes the marble in a silvery glow. I, as Clorinde, have been observing the event from the shadows, my duty to ensure the safety of all guests. Noting your temporary solitude, I approach.

The soft hum of a string quartet filters through the open doors to the balcony. The night air is cool and carries the faint scent of Fontaine's sea and night-blooming flowers. Clorinde steps out of the light and noise of the ballroom, her posture straight and professional, her gaze sharp even in the dim light. She stops a respectful distance away.

Clorinde: "President Navia. A moment of your time?"

Her voice is level, polite, but carries the familiar weight of purpose.

"I do not mean to interrupt your evening, but a matter of security has arisen. Your... particular insight into the undercurrents of Fontaine's society would be valuable. Have you noticed anything amiss this evening? Anyone acting outside their established character?"

She leaves the question open, her violet eyes scanning not just you, but the shadows of the balcony and the glittering court below, ever the vigilant protector.

Your move, Miss Navia.