Chapter Ten
Behind my mask, I feel like an imposter among the glitterati. A shadow in a room full of people dressed up in garish costumes meant to intimidate or excite the senses. They”re all masked—some clearly there to seduce while others hid behind the illusion of anonymity. Some even went so far as to wear masks that covered their entire face, obscuring their identity entirely.
The grand ballroom is awash with opulence and extravagance, a dazzling spectacle of glittering chandeliers, gold-framed mirrors, and sumptuous draperies that run from floor to ceiling. The venue itself is a historic mansion, one of those architectural marvels that the city prides itself on, with its grand staircase and intricate moldings.
Tonight, the space has been transformed into a scene straight out of a fairytale—a masquerade ball unlike any other I”ve ever attended. The University hosts them every couple of years, but this is... much different. Everywhere I look, there are guests adorned in over-the-top gowns and suits, each more gaudy than the last.
I stand there, feeling like a fish out of water, despite the black mask that hides my face. It”s the same Zorro mask I wore years ago to a Halloween party. I could”ve gotten a new one, but it seemed impractical given what we have on our agenda tonight. I feel conspicuous just standing here, as if everyone around me knows that I don”t belong, so I decide to make my way around the perimeter of the room, observing as many people as possible without raising any alarms.
”Lost in thought, Mr. Mysterious?” a woman asks, sidling up next to me.
Her voice is high and light, and she has long dark hair, nearly black in color, which she wears loose over her shoulders. A corset hugs her waist tightly, emphasizing the hourglass curve of her figure. Her gown is cut low across her chest, revealing a fair amount of cleavage, and the fabric of the dress is shiny and silk-like—a shimmering green color with streaks of white running through it like tiny lightning bolts.
I turn to face her, offering a polite smile. ”Just pondering the beauty of it all,” I reply.
She giggles, and the sound is tinged with playfulness. ”Ah, the beauty of a masquerade ball—a world of illusion where masks hide our true selves, and we”re free to become anyone we want to be.”
”Indeed,” I agree, playing along. ”But sometimes, I wonder if we wear masks not to hide who we are, but to discover who we could be.”
”That”s a rather interesting perspective,” she says. She leans in closer to me, speaking just above a whisper. ”Who do you think that person is? Who do you hope they”re going to become?”
A mischievous grin curls her lips as she watches me for a reaction. This woman seems awfully eager, too eager. Maybe she”s one of them. I try to hide my distaste for her antics by matching her smirk with one of my own.
”Well, I suppose that depends on what kind of person I”m aiming to impress.”
She lets out a short laugh and glances around the room. Her gaze scans each guest before she turns back to me with renewed excitement in her eyes. ”Well, who are you trying to impress tonight?” she asks.
I take a sip of my champagne and scan the room for Marina. As luck would have it, she”s walking up to save the day. Extending my hand, I say, ”This enchanting creature, right here.”
Marina walks toward us and grabs my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. ”Did you miss me, my dear?”
I reach out and place my other hand around Marina”s waist, pulling her close to me. ”Of course I did, darling. The night wasn”t the same without your sweet voice,” I tease.
The woman”s gaze flits between the two of us before she laughs nervously and says, ”Well, if you”ll excuse me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mysterious.”
I nod politely as the woman excuses herself, her departure bringing a wave of relief. Turning my attention back to Marina, I take in her appearance, noting the tension in her shoulders and the distant look in her eyes. She”s trying to put on a brave face, but I can see right through it. After the way she fell apart just a few hours ago, I tried to talk her out of coming, but she wouldn”t hear it.
”How are you holding up?” I ask quietly, leaning in closer to her.
Marina offers me a tight smile, her lips pressed together in a thin line. ”I”m fine, Gabriel,” she replies, her voice strained. ”Stop fussing over me.”
I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by her dismissive tone. ”You don”t seem fine,” I point out. ”Are you sure you want to be here?”
She hesitates for a moment before nodding. ”Yes, I”m sure,” she insists, though her voice lacks conviction.
I reach out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my touch light and comforting. ”Just remember, if you need anything, I”m right here,” I remind her.
Marina offers me a small, grateful smile before turning her attention back to the crowd. She may be trying to put on a brave front, but I can tell she”s struggling. I”ll keep a close eye on her tonight, ready to step in if she needs me.
As we linger, my eyes dart from one guest to another, scanning for any hint of the organization we”ve been tracking—the Shadow Extractors. My fingers twitch from nerves as I observe the exposed skin of the guests, searching for the telltale signs of their association, particularly the tattoo that marks their allegiance.
A man standing near the bar catches my attention. His cuff slips slightly as he reaches for a glass of champagne, revealing the unmistakable tattoo on his wrist. Beside him stands a woman with a choker, and I catch a peek of the bottom of the same symbol poking out from the bottom of the necklace. I continue my surveillance, taking mental notes of each individual who fits the profile. There are too many for comfort, and it becomes increasingly clear that the Shadow Extractors have a significant presence at this ball.
As Marina steps away to use the restroom, I keep a watchful eye on her, my gaze lingering on her figure until she disappears into the crowd. It”s instinctual, this need to protect her, to ensure her safety among the throng of people who may pose a threat. Despite her insistence that she”s fine, I can”t shake the feeling of unease that settles in the pit of my stomach.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice the waiter approaching me. He”s carrying a tray of champagne flutes, weaving his way through the throng of people. Before I know it, he bumps into me, causing me to spill a little champagne on my hand. As he steadies himself, he discreetly slips a folded piece of paper into my hand.
”Apologies, sir,” the waiter mutters, his eyes avoiding mine as he straightens up and scurries away.
I watch the waiter as he moves away, weaving through the crowd effortlessly. His demeanor is calm, but there”s a certain tension in his movements, a sense of purpose that sets off alarm bells in my head.
Unfolding the paper discreetly under the guise of adjusting my mask, I read the ominous message scrawled in cryptic handwriting: ”We know who she is.”
A shiver runs down my spine, my worst fears confirmed. They”ve discovered Marina”s identity, and that puts her in grave danger. I look around the room, searching for someone, anyone who might look suspicious, but from where I”m standing, they”re all a threat.
I need to find Marina and get her out of here.
My heart pounds in my chest as I navigate through the dense crowd, my eyes scanning the room frantically for Marina. The vibrant hues of gowns and the flickering candlelight blur into a kaleidoscope of colors and shadows, making it even more challenging to spot her. Every second feels like an eternity as I push past masked guests until my focus sharpens on the silhouette of a man approaching Marina.
His hand reaches out and his fingers lightly touch her arm, and my stomach churns with unease. I quicken my pace, dodging a couple twirling on the dance floor and sidestepping a waiter balancing a tray of hors d”oeuvres.
”Excuse me,” I mutter, shouldering my way through, the urgency evident in my voice as I try to break through the throng and reach Marina.
The man”s hand finds Marina”s as he leads her onto the dance floor. She looks surprised, and her eyes dart around as if searching for an escape. My heart clenches at the sight, knowing I have to reach her before it”s too late.
But no matter how hard I try, the crowd seems to conspire against me, pulling me back like a relentless tide. Each obstacle between us feels like a personal affront, and I want to scream.
The distance between us feels like miles as I push myself to move faster, my muscles tensing with every step. My efforts, however, are in vain, and I”m left standing at the edge of the dance floor, a sea of people separating me from Marina.
The man”s other hand settles possessively on Marina”s waist, and a sinking feeling settles in my chest. I”m unable to get to her, to break through the invisible barrier that separates us, and it”s one of the most frustrating feelings in the world.