Crystal chandeliers dripped from the vaulted ceiling, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. Hundreds of candles floated in mid-air, their flames perfectly still.

The elite of Gotham swarmed the marble floors in silk and velvet, champagne flutes glinting like tiny signals in their hands. A string quartet played something classical and forgettable from the corner.

You were already three minutes into being here, and your jaw ached from smiling.

Somewhere behind you, a high-pitched laugh cut through the murmur of conversation.

Emily.