12 Rivals
Douglas stepped into the party room, his suit perfectly pressed, his cravat fluffed in a way that looked spontaneous and yet felt perfectly balanced.
The wealthy guests mingled in a complicated but well-practiced dance. Centuries-old jewelry graced necks and fingers and cuffs. Conversations flowed as fine alcohol about family connections that went back generations. Old money.
Old fools.
Douglas stepped across the real wood flooring. The streets of Heaven might be paved with gold, but for planets in the process of terraforming, wood was far rarer and more valuable. The attendants reflected from its polished surface. Douglas wove his way through the hive of posturing and politics, straight for the bar. The server knew without being told to give him an alcohol-free drink that
