Celia Everwyn stepped onto the polished stone walkway of the Cadenza Promenade like a blade sliding free from its sheath.
Her sapphire-blue hair shimmered under the filtered sunlight, cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders, catching and refracting light like enchanted silk. Her emerald eyes were veiled behind a pair of glass-shielded designer lenses, not for sun protection but for aesthetic precision—angular, reflecting the pale gold of the buildings around them. Each step she took radiated precision and control, the click of her heels measured and sharp against the ivory path.
