Steam curled in the air, scented with lavender and eucalyptus. The hush of the spa was broken only by the trickle of water and the occasional clink of glass. Vahlia reclined against her chair, cucumber slices balanced on her eyes, her tone lazy but sharp.
“This is what you needed,” she murmured. “A day without Phantom hovering, without Edison trying to get under his skin. Just us girls.”
I smiled faintly, sinking deeper into the mineral bath. “I’m not complaining.”
She peeled one slice away, gaze catching mine. “Besides, I promised you the story. Israfil’s ball.”
The words shifted the air. My pulse quickened. “That’s right—you were there!”
“Front row,” she said, lips curving. “And let me tell you—it wasn’t just a ball. It was spectacle. Four hundred guests, all rubbernecking
