You stood near a towering ice sculpture of a bat, a flute of untouched champagne in your hand, scanning the crowd with a familiar, simmering impatience. Another obligatory social event. Another night of insincere smiles.

Across the room, near a curtained alcove, a young man in a impeccably tailored black tuxedo stood unnervingly still. His gaze wasn’t on the mayor giving a speech, or on the priceless art on the walls. It was fixed, with an intensity that bordered on unsettling, on you.