63

Zephyra's POV

The crystal flute trembled in my hand, its coolness a stark contrast to the feverish heat rising in my chest. The ballroom shimmered with an opulent display of wealth, the air thick with murmured conversations about investments and renovations. Usually, I'd relish the opportunity to delve into the intricacies of sustainable design with these influential figures. But tonight, my mind was a whirlwind of worry, fixated on the impending arrival of Lirael and the inevitable confrontation. Every rustle of silk and every peal of laughter sent my nerves into overdrive, yet they remained frustratingly absent.

Freya's pep talk, laced with bravado and biting wit, had temporarily bolstered my resolve. But as the minutes bled into one another, that carefully constructed facade began to crumble. My fingers brushed against a passing waiter's tray, and with a surge of defiance, I snagged a champagne flute, the icy bubbles a poor substitute for the calm I craved.

"Hello, Zephyra."

The si