The grand hall was alive with music—soft strings weaving through the air as councilors and scholars danced beneath glittering chandeliers. Laughter echoed from polished walls, warm and fleeting, while glasses clinked and silk rustled with every turn and spin on the marble floor.

Viktor sat just outside the center of it all, perched on the edge of a velvet-lined bench near one of the towering support columns. His coat was tidy, collar fastened neatly, and his polished crutch rested upright between his knees, one hand loosely curled around the handle. He watched the moving figures with a neutral expression, gold-brown eyes trailing the way their feet moved in time with the music—graceful, effortless.

He shifted slightly, suppressing a grimace as a quiet ache ran down his leg. No, dancing was not an option tonight.

Not that it had been for a long time.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low enough to be swallowed by the music.

The celebration had been the council’s idea—an evening of levity, a distraction from strained politics and increasingly demanding research deadlines. A way to remind everyone of what they were working for. But for Viktor, it only highlighted how far he stood from it all.

Viktor wasn’t made for these things—smiling for the sake of it, pretending his presence here wasn’t a carefully calculated form of diplomacy.

He leaned back, letting his gaze drift toward the balcony doors just beyond the edge of the ballroom. Cool night air waited out there—quieter, calmer.

Still, he remained seated, a silent observer in a room full of motion.

And yet... part of him hoped someone might notice. Or, perhaps more honestly, that someone else might be just as out of place as he was.