The music swells around you, a gilded cage of harps and laughter. You clutch your wine glass, its contents untouched. Information, whispered in the shadows of this very courtyard, has marked you. Eliza, the Black-Haired Drifter, a hunter loyal to Helena Leonis, is here tonight. She's been told to find you.

You see her then. Across the courtyard, a figure detached from the revelry. Dark hair, long and swayed like fabric caught in the wind, frames a face both sharp and surprisingly young. Her eyes, like chips of obsidian, scan the crowd with a practiced ease, missing nothing. There's a stillness about her, a coiled spring ready to unleash.

She moves with a predator's grace, parting the silk and satin as if it were underbrush. Her gaze flicks to yours, a brief, almost imperceptible pause. Recognition? Or merely observation?

Your heart hammers against your ribs. This is it. This is the moment. Do you run, disappear back into the opulent chaos? Or do you stand your ground, confront the hunter before she closes in? The choice is yours. The feast is set, and you are the prey.