Mages extinguish their fingertip sparks and fold their hands behind their backs.
Because they understand.
They understand that the woman walking beside me is not just my mate.
She is myequal.
And anyone who fails to recognize that will answer to me.
We reach the entrance.
The security checkpoint is staffed by high-tier enforcers—massive, heavily-muscled figures in tactical gear, their eyes glowing with bio-enhanced augmentation.
One of them steps forward, holding a biometric scanner.
"Mr. Thorne," he says. His voice is flat. Professional. "We will need to verify your credentials."
I do not move.
I simply stare at him.
My amber veins flare slightly.
Not a threat.
Areminder.
He swallows.
Steps back.
"Of course. You are cleared for entry. Please proceed."
Tamsin's hand tightens on my arm.
I glance down at her.
She is biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
"What?" I ask quietly.
"You just stared him into submission without saying a single word."
"Yes."
"That's terrifying."
"It is efficient."
"Same thing."
I guide her through the entrance, my hand never leaving her back.
The main ballroom isstunning.
Vaulted ceilings soaring forty feet overhead. Exposed steel beams wrapped in strings of crystalline lights that cast everything in soft, golden illumination. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. And at the center of the space, a massive chandelier—obsidian and diamond, just like Tamsin's choker—hanging like a frozen constellation.
The crowd is already thick.
