The ballroom shimmered like a dream—golden chandeliers, velvet drapes, and perfume laced with magic. Everyone wore masks, from glittering feline half-masks to horned avian visors, each more elaborate than the next. The event was invitation-only—hosted by one of Reiks' business associates.
And tonight, San and Hyme were crashing it.
Hyme adjusted the mask on his face—a silver piece shaped like delicate crescent moons, matching the shimmer of his eyes. His tail flicked beneath his long coat. "Are you sure this is going to work?"
San straightened the collar of his own suit—tight, black, and definitely expensive-looking thanks to Hyme's wallet. His mask was simple, hiding the upper half of his face. "The source works for Reiks and always attends events like these. If he's here, we'll find him."
Hyme squinted through the crowd. "This place stinks of lies and overpriced wine."
"And catnip," San muttered. "Someone brought their pet tiger hybrid. Look over there."
Hyme wrinkled his nose. "No dignity."
As they separated to scan the room, San took to the dance floor, knowing the source was a known flirt—and that meant baiting him out.
He was halfway into a slow waltz with a tall woman in a crimson mask when Hyme spotted them from the balcony.
Hyme's ears twitched.
The woman had her hand on San's chest. She was laughing. San was… smiling?
Was that a smirk?!
Hyme's claws curled slightly inside his gloves. "Oh, so that's how we're playing tonight."
He marched down the stairs like a war general approaching battle. The crowd parted for him without a word. His aura was cold, elegant, and absolutely lethal.
Meanwhile, San tried to keep his focus on the lady, who was whispering something into his ear.
He wasn't expecting to be tugged back by the collar of his jacket.
"Excuse me," Hyme said flatly to the woman. "This is my dance partner."
The woman blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Hyme slid his arm around San's waist. "Mine. Claimed. Claimed since morning. Claimed since last week. Claimed forever."
San choked. "You're not a dog, Hyme!"
Hyme ignored him. "Let's dance."
Before San could reply, he was already being pulled onto the dance floor. The music changed to a slower rhythm, and Hyme led—sharp and surprisingly graceful.
San blinked. "You know how to waltz?"
"I'm rich," Hyme replied. "We're taught everything from fencing to ballroom etiquette before we learn to purr."
The two of them spun gently across the floor. Hyme's eyes never left San's. The tension between them sizzled—confused, warm, chaotic.
"Why were you smiling at her?" Hyme asked softly.
"She was our informant."
"Oh."
Pause.
"…Still. You smiled too much."
San tried not to laugh. "Were you jealous?"
"Extremely," Hyme whispered. "I was ready to commit at least three crimes."
San shook his head, smiling for real this time. "You're unbelievable."
Then, Hyme's expression softened. "But you smiled at me too. That's enough."
The music ended, and applause filled the room.
Just as they were about to step off the floor, someone brushed past them—a man in a cobalt blue mask who slipped a folded note into San's coat pocket without a word.
San stiffened. "That's him."
They left the ballroom quickly, ducking into a side hallway. San unfolded the note.
"Storage Room. Back hallway. Ten minutes. Come alone."
Hyme's tail snapped.
"Like hell you're going alone."
San gave him a look. "We need to be careful. If he spooks, he won't talk."
"I'll hide behind the wine barrels," Hyme said, crossing his arms. "I'm stealthy. Like a jungle cat."
"You whined for an hour last time you got dust in your fur."
"I've changed."
San grinned, grabbing Hyme's hand. "Fine. Let's do this together."
As they slipped away toward the hallway, neither of them noticed the blue-masked man watching from the shadows—eyes glinting like sharpened ice.
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