Two days passed with agonizing slowness while I waited for official confirmation regarding whether my direct volunteering had actually secured a position working the upcoming masquerade gala. Mara noticed my restless anticipation over breakfast each morning, offering steady encouragement despite my own persistent uncertainty about whether this decision represented wisdom or reckless exposure to considerably more danger than ordinary shifts had ever required navigating. Something about the waiting itself felt almost more difficult than whatever actual selection eventually decided.
Confirmation finally arrived on the third morning, delivered through a brief note Sable passed along during my regular shift, informing me formally that I had indeed been selected among the staff chosen to work t
