Author’s POV
The gala is in full swing: crystal glasses clinking, string quartet playing, human dignitaries and curious socialites circling Emma like moths around a flame.
She shines in emerald velvet, crown catching every light, smiling perfectly while Claire keeps her glass filled with chilled spritz.
Brittany moves through the crowd like a shadow, blonde hair twisted up, black dress clinging to every curve.
No one notices the tiny vial she carries.
No one sees her lean over the refreshment table, uncork the vial with one thumb, and tip three colorless drops into the fresh glass meant for the Luna.
Claire herself hands it to Emma moments later.
Emma smiles gratefully, takes a polite sip; just enough to wet her tongue, and that’s all it takes.
The change is subtle at first:
