Lyra's grip tightened on her clutch as she studied Owen's confused face. Before she could respond, Eleanor stepped back to her side, worry etched across her elegant features.
"Lyra, dear," Eleanor said softly, "we should retrieve your bag before rejoining the party. You mentioned it's in the private lounge?"
"Yes, I left it there earlier," Lyra confirmed.
Owen offered a polite smile. "I can show you the way. It's just down that corridor."
The three made their way through the crowd, Lyra acutely aware of the whispers that followed them. When they reached the lounge door, Owen reached for the handle only to find it locked.
"That's strange," he murmured, trying the handle again. "This room shouldn't be locked during events."
Footsteps approached from behind them, the click of designer heels against marble unmistakable. Lyra didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Looking for something?" Orla's saccharine voice dripped with malice.
