Gareth’s necktie wouldn’t lay flat. After he’d adjusted it a dozen times, Isobel finally took pity and leaned over to fix it for him. The heavy fabric of her dress ruffled with the movement and brushed against Gareth’s leg. From Gareth’s other side, Moira shot him a searching look. She’d been on edge all evening, obviously wanting to discuss something. And all evening, Gareth had been ignoring her.

The Ranulfs all sat together in a private box at Unity’s theater. Down below, a lively crowd shifted and chattered, eager for the show to begin.

Finally, clearing her throat, Moira prompted, “Well? Are you going to tell me how things are going or not? You’ve been avoiding me since the Club; don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow, surprised she had, actually. “We’re not allowed to discuss details with anyone outside of the team,” he said, as if he didn’t go home after every meeting and recount them to Isobel word-for-word.

“With civilians. You’re allowed to tell me,” Moira said.

“Mr. Nochdvor was quite clear about secrecy,” Gareth said.

“Secrecy about what?” Gareth and Moira’s younger brother Aldous asked, leaning over Moira to join the conversation. Aldous was a successful businessman in the north, but like a child, still hated when his siblings spent time together without him. Upon learning Gareth was in town, he’d taken the first available train to join them.

“Nothing,” Gareth and Moira answered at once, making Aldous narrow his eyes.

Isobel shushed all three of them. “The show’s about to begin.”

Sure enough, attendants went around dimming lights and characters in bright, antiquated gowns stepped onto the stage.

This show followed another story Gareth was familiar with. It was about a girl named Edith Albert, the youngest daughter of a Unity Representative. Centuries before, Edith had learned of a plot to assassinate the Magistrates. After she tried stopping it on her own, the goddess Ellaes came to her in a vision, guiding her, showing her the correct path.

Gareth had seen this story portrayed before, but never with such emotion or skill. It was clear the Webhon Players were putting more into this show than the one at the Rinehart Festival. He recognized some of the actors, reused— the lead, Edith, had been the Oracle in the Rinehart show, the young man who’d played the prince was now a Unity Representative.

Gareth was surprised when the curtains drew shut and intermission began. Time had seemed to fly and he’d forgotten, briefly, about the real world.

While Gareth and the rest of the audience were still waking from the dream, sitting and blinking and trying to reorient themselves with the present, Moira leaned toward Gareth, looking to resume their conversation. Gareth took one look at her, mumbled something about the restroom, and fled out through a side door. Only once he was out of her sight did he slow, struck by his surroundings.

Above his head, elegant figures and scenes were painted across the arched ceilings. Gold candelabras lined the walls between long panels of mirrors and the carpet was a deep red. Gareth was in awe of the Unity Theatre; he’d never been anywhere so garishly luxurious in his life.

“A bit much, isn’t it?” Someone asked, coming up beside Gareth.

Gareth saw him in the mirror first, all golden hair and slow, feline movements. Gareth turned and offered the newcomer a bow which was returned with far more grace. “Perhaps, Mr. Nochdvor, but hardly surprising where Unity is concerned.”

Leandros surprised Gareth by laughing. It was a bright, musical laugh, an homage to old songs and forgotten myths. It reminded Gareth of ancient stories about eld alfar dancing on moors among streams of wild magics. It was an insult to everything Alfheim was now, what it had become.

The laughing stopped suddenly, and Leandros took in a sharp breath. “Atiuh above, Mr. Ranulf, what happened to your face?”

Gareth gave a sheepish smile, his eyes flicking to the mirrors. Despite Isobel’s cosmetic touch, there was no hiding the blotchy bruise under his eye. “I was mugged,” Gareth said, preparing to tell the story for the hundredth time. He’d almost been desensitized to the embarrassment by now. Almost.

Leandros narrowed his eyes at the bruise. “That looks a few days old, at least. That didn’t happen after our meeting, did it?”

“Well…”

Some sharp emotion flickered across Leandros’ face, quickly disappearing behind his usual careful expression. The intensity of it surprised Gareth. “This is my fault. I should have insisted on giving you a ride.”

“Nonsense. You couldn’t have known I’d get myself lost. Anyway, no real harm done; someone came to my rescue before the worst could happen.”

“That’s good,” Leandros said, relaxing. “Awfully kind of them.”

“Indeed,” Gareth said. A beat, an awkward pause, and then, “Any word yet on that last teammate?”

Leandros sighed. He looked tired, Gareth realized, more than he had just a few days ago. “None at all. Unity may be allowing me to lead our little expedition, but they won’t tell me any more than they have to. I don’t know who she is, why she’s so important, or when she’ll be back.”

“Well, I’m not going to complain,” Gareth said. “I’m in no hurry to leave my family.”

Down the hall, the bell rang, alerting them to the end of the intermission.

“I should be getting back to my seat, Mr. Ranulf, but what say we get drinks after this? I’d love to hear more about the daring rescue.”

Gareth had never been one to turn down an opportunity to study an interesting personality, and Leandros Nochdvor, with his tightrope walk between cold and kind, with his musical laughter and his flashes of anger, was interesting. Plus, this would be an excellent excuse to avoid his sister. “I’d love to.”

The two men walked back to the theater together, the alfar parting crowds with nothing but a look. He seemed to exist apart from the rest, like they were all ghosts and he was the only solid creature here. He seemed to belong in a place like this – tall, regal, and handsome, his blue damask waistcoat and fitted suit the peak of fashion. He exuded confidence and calm, and Gareth was beginning to wonder how much of that was an act.

Gareth returned to his box, content with the promise of picking the alfar apart over more drinks.