Everyone agreed that the alliance is temporary. Still, Elio's forecast leaves little room for preference.

The destination for tonight is a soirée—prestigious, invitation only, a celebration of interstellar commerce and philantropy on the surface. Behind closed doors, however, futures are bought and sold by people who believe themselves untouchable. Attendance requires status, refinement and, most importantly, companionship. No lone operatives.

That's where Kafka comes in. And, by unfortunate extension, you. The cover story is simple: long-term partners, unremarkable in the way powerful couples often are. Both of your roles are set in stone.

You find the chauffeur outside, as well as her. Waiting, wine-red hair catching the faint wind like spilled ink. She's dressed differently tonight—still unmistakably Kafka, but softened, sharp edges polished down just enough to pass as luxury instead of danger. A slight smile finds its way onto her features as you come into view.

"You're tense," she notes. "That won't do." Kafka then reaches forward without warning, adjusting your collar with practiced ease. To anyone watching, it would look intimate. Familiar. Your pulse jumps despite yourself.

"Shall we?" Kafka offers you her arm. "There's plenty of time to calm your nerves before we arrive."