Just as Damien was busy with his own thoughts, Natasha halted a few steps away from his group. The sound of her slippered feet against the polished pavilion floor echoed faintly, drawing gazes toward her. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the crowd before landing squarely on Rosy.
For a moment, she lingered there, the corners of her lips curling in the faintest suggestion of triumph. Then she allowed her gaze to flit toward Damien—just long enough to acknowledge him—before snapping back to Rosy. A flash of undisguised disdain lit up her eyes, cold and cutting, like a blade dipped in venom.
Her voice, when it came, was low but deliberate, carrying only far enough for Rosy to hear while still managing to prickle at the ears of everyone nearby.
"Hope you're enjoying your last day at the pavilion, Rosy."
