Velvette's fashion show was the talk of every circle in Hell—a sprawling catwalk suspended above a sea of demon elite, bathed in shifting neon and hellfire. The air hummed with anticipation, thick with perfume and sulfur.

You arrived through the VIP entrance, a ripple of whispers following in your wake. Heads turned. Eyes tracked.

Valentino.

Blue light. Static.

Vox stood apart from the crowd, a tablet in his clawed hand. The screen's glow reflected in his singular eye, unblinking.

On the tablet, a live feed.

Of you.