A human woman in sensible heels descended the opera house steps toward them. Severe braids gathered the woman’s graying hair tight against her scalp, but her teeth flashed against her dark skin in the light of the spotlights. “Master Victory? Master Stefania has set your appointment for ten o’clock. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to where you can wait with your staff.”
Mikelos stepped forward, the public face of Victory’s entourage, and thanked her. As the woman escorted the group through a back hall, Asaron gestured to a particular poster out of the many framed historical adverts lining the walls. It featured Mikelos and Connor in stark black and white. The camera caught both men with fierce stares, clutching their instruments in a staged pose that bore no resemblance to how the viol
