The portraits that line the hall sit in almost-chronological order. It starts with a plethora of baby photos, mostly of Kiana-- as is the nature of being the first child. The frames accumulate more and more people until each photo looks like a vignette into a brief moment of calm where no siblings are crying or swatting at each other. Sure enough, with each aging image, Kiana looks more and more like her mother. She begins to fade out of the more recent images, being overshadowed by homecoming photos of Isaac, action shots of Hendrick, and a few glimpses of Vivian in between. She’s notoriously elusive, just like her sister.

“I don’t like asking for or doing favors,” Caelius mutters, seemingly to herself, “but thanks. I owe you one for this.” She untucks her phone from her ear and stuffs it back in her pocket when the person on the other end hangs up. She grabs a photo of Kiana and carries it down the hallway. Smoothing down her blazer, she leans against the open doorway and says nothing-- just watches admirably as Kiana coils the last of her hair into another tight curl. With how well the blue dress suits her, she can’t even imagine her wearing the white one anymore.

“You been snooping around my house?” she asks, so used to Caelius’s presence that she can sense its absence.

“Just your family photos.”

Kiana laughs when she wanders over and looks at the picture in her hand. “I was fourteen there. I was a dancer and they always put me in the most hideous outfits. At least my mom made my hair look nice.”

“I didn’t know you danced competitively,” Caelius mentions. She turns over another thought before she adds, “What about pair dancing?”

“I mean, sometimes. I took ballroom classes for a couple years but never competed in it. Is this your way of asking me if I want to--”

“Look, all I’m saying is that pretending to dance is a good way to not draw attention when we’re trying to make a move on Nikos,” she interrupts, disappearing back down the hallway. “It’d be even better if you didn’t have to pretend.”

Grabbing her keys and purse from the nightstand, Kiana walks out into the foyer and comes toe-to-toe with her roommate after she puts the frame back. It’s fruitless, considering her synthetic body can’t get red in the face, but something still suggests that she would if she was skin and bones. “Yes, I can pair dance. I’ll try and make sure you can keep up.”

Caelius snatches the keys from her hand and turns to the door. “Don’t worry. I’m a fast learner.”

A room couldn’t be more white-collared if it tried. Such a beautiful outdoor venue, bestrewn with string lights and decorative centerpieces, only for such snobby people to occupy it. You’re always within a four-foot radius of a wine glass filled much higher than it should be. So much discussion of bionics, yet none in sight-- until the open doorway produces an arm with defined angles and a shining off-black exterior, and a young woman attached to it.

Kiana holds her head up and takes careful steps down into the courtyard. She has to try a little harder to carry herself with grace, considering the heels and the crippling self-consciousness. Caelius has it easy-- the last-minute addition of boots and a corset to her outfit only boosts her ego even more. Considering who the host of the party is, the two of them need as much confidence as they can find.

It doesn’t take long for the staring to feel like spider bites against Kiana’s skin. She can’t make out the whispers and whether they’re good or bad, but Caelius can, based on the sneer she shoots across the yard when she catches someone talking. Kiana only catches sight of her parents for half a second. The wine glass looks like it’s about to slip from her mother’s hand. She looks away.

“Have you seen the man of the hour yet?” mutters Caelius once most of the guests have returned to their business.

“Let him come to us,” Kiana answers. At last, a smile. “If people are gonna look at me, I might as well give them something to look at.”

She stops in the middle of the courtyard and reaches her hand out. This newfound confidence is unfamiliar to Caelius when it’s not coming from herself-- but the shoe certainly fits. Kiana immediately brings her into a two-step and she puts all her focus into keeping her footwork clean. 

“We take up bounties at nightclubs and bars all the time,” she mentions, “and only now am I learning you can dance?”

“It draws too much attention. This is the only instance where that’s ever going to be useful.” Kiana opens her arms up and pulls herself flush to her colleague, peering over her shoulder. A small group of men in dress shirts mumble to each other in between glances at the dance floor. “I think I’ve found his barrel of monkeys.”

“You really weren’t lying about the whole ‘ten men in slacks and button-ups’ thing. I give it twenty minutes before I have them all on the ground.”

Their arms cross behind their heads, slide down each others’ arms, and latch at the wrist. That robot brain of Caelius’s certainly does learn quick. “Sorry to repeat your least favorite instruction, but maiming is not an option, Cae.”

She chuckles and rests a palm flat over Kiana’s back, still eyeing the group as one of the men breaks off and makes a beeline for the dance floor. “That’s up for them to decide.”

Kiana feigns disinterest by maintaining a two-step when he asks to speak to her off the floor. Begrudgingly, he accepts when she insists that her partner come, too. Caelius stiffens, but however he interprets the term isn’t her problem. They disappear beneath a canopy toward the far side of the lot.

She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Emmanuel Nikos blends in with all the other entrepreneurs he makes small talk with. Ringed fingers and a rigid jaw aren’t enough to make him look intimidating. Hell, he seems like a good man in every sense of the word. Healthy bronze skin, a charismatic smile, and colorful body language are the perfect storm for looking like a philanthropist. If only the others in this room knew.

Nikos excuses his guests and they retire to the far side of the canopy. A couple of the men in dress shirts remain.

“Miss Lennox, I had no idea you’d be here!” he says, wrapping her in an embrace. Caelius shoves the grimace down her throat before it’s too late. “How’s your mother?”

“She’s well, thank you,” Kiana answers.

“I haven’t seen you since you were about this tall,” he adds with a gesture near his ribcage. “Who might your plus one be?”

“Charlotte Caelius,” she says. The handshake lasts a while. For once, Caelius wants someone to remember her name and face. He insists that both of them take a seat. Like the sorry excuse of protection standing behind Nikos, Caelius remains standing behind her colleague.

“I see you’ve doubled down on security,” Kiana mentions. The contempt is only somewhat concealed.

He laughs. “Trying times, I suppose. Not every county is as safe as Beaufort, but I plan on bringing my bionics policies to other places to change that. Having it all overlap with the banquet is just good timing. All the folks I was just mingling with are members of the ACA.” He slips a ring off of his finger and fumbles it between the other four. “Speaking of bionics, that’s why I pulled you aside. That arm is absolutely beautiful. Mind if I have a closer look?”

Oh, you’ll get a closer look. She obliges and waits for him to stop ogling. “I wanted to speak to you about your latest policy proposal. If these cybernetics programs are privatized in the name of ‘safer acquisition of bionics’, a lot of people will lose access to them. The people who need them most are usually at the bottom of the food chain.”

His charisma doesn’t waver. “Have you actually seen the bottom of the food chain, my dear?” She doesn’t answer. “It’s rotten. Lowlifes who pay meager prices for enhancements that are more scrap metal than cybernetics. Having a bunch of criminals running around with botched technology is a matter of public safety. One I intend to correct.”

She holds onto so much tension in her jaw that she doesn’t even notice it. Rotten. Lowlifes. Criminals. That didn’t used to mean her, or Caelius, or anybody who turns to under-the-table procedures because they’ll die if they don’t.  So much for negotiating, she thinks. Her ‘no maiming’ policy is about six inches from being thrown out the window, to Kiana’s dismay and Caelius’s enjoyment.

“One of my men went into town the other night and came back badly bruised. Worried me sick. He mentioned a young woman in motorcycle gloves who had a bit of an iron grip, to say the least. I wanted to ask if you knew anyone who matched that description.”

Kiana chuckles and leans back in her chair. “Are you profiling me, Mr. Nikos? Because that seems like an awfully unprofessional way to speak to a party guest.”

“That’s Doctor to you, Miss Lennox.”

“Just call me Kiana and we’re even.” She stands up, resting her knuckles against the table. Her arm could easily punch right through it, and quite honestly, it’s extremely tempting. “I don’t need to make a mess of things, Doctor. But I can’t let you turn vulnerable people into a moneymaking scheme just because the ACA keeps you on a long leash.”

“I’m doing a job nobody else has the guts to do.” Stopping uncomfortably close, he rises and leans across the table. “I could gun you down where you stand and take that arm right off your body. But how would that look? To my colleagues, your parents, your siblings-- it’d be a nightmare. The reputation I’ve heard so much about, all gone in an instant. It’s like you said: you don’t need to make a mess of things.”

“But boy, would I love to,” she says, offering him the daintiest smile she has. “You don’t have to worry about ruining my reputation, Doctor. I can do that myself.”

With her right hand, she reaches around to the back of his neck and shoves it downward. His head hits the clothed table with a resounding thud and he groans. She can feel the electricity buzzing from her fingers as it travels up her arm, through her lungs, and bursts out of her chest. 

The Lennox Daughter may have been the one to show up at the gala, but the only person leaving is Kiana. That much she can be sure of.