The hotel ballroom shone like a champagne bubble—gold light reflecting crystal chandeliers, glints of silverware from under the languid spread of spotlights. The gala was a minefield of networking disguised as refinement. Tables were laden with the scent of orchids, champagne glasses clinked softly as servers made their way around, and somewhere near the center, the city elite had gathered like moths to a very lucrative flame.
Ethan stood by the door, his hand fiddling with the cuff of his crisp grey suit. He'd chosen it deliberately—sharp enough to make a point, muted enough so that he didn't look like he cared one whit. His reflection in a mirrored column did not show the fatigue that had been keeping pace with him since he'd left Wolf Creek. Good. Here, appearances mattered. Always.
F
