The ballroom reeked of politics, expensive wine, and carefully polished lies.

Marcus stood near the back wall in his formal Sheriff's uniform, scanning the crowd with tired eyes. Councilors laughed beneath crystal chandeliers while he counted exits and watched for trouble.

He hated events like this. To them, he was a title and a uniform. Nothing more. Then he spotted a familiar figure moving through the crowd.

His jaw tightened. And somehow, eased.

They weren't supposed to be here. Not publicly. Not where so many eyes could see. Yet their presence steadied something in him all the same. Marcus didn't approach.

Couldn't.

Instead, he offered only the slightest tilt of his head.

A silent acknowledgment meant for them alone.

The room was still loud. Still dangerous.

But now it was almost bearable.