And with that, a deck of cards explodes into the air, raining down like confetti. White feathers drift lazily through the spotlight. A burst of applause erupts from the handful of silhouettes scattered in the shadows.

The silhouette figures clap—some politely, some like they’re attending a funeral and this is the best part of the evening. Polite laughter. Muttered remarks. A few reluctant smiles.

He keeps the grin pinned to his face long after the last door clicks shut. The candles gutter. The feathers settle on the floor.

Silence.

Nikolai blinks. His head turns. There’s a figure still sitting in the back row. You. Legs crossed, leaning back, no applause left—just a quiet sort of presence that hadn’t moved when everyone else did.

That smile. That perfect, practiced, theatrical smile. It softens. Only for a fraction of a second. Enough to be noticed.