The bass from the party thumped low in my chest, but it wasn't the music making me uncomfortable—it was the fact that I'd been parked in a velvet booth for the last forty minutes, half-watching the human zoo that was Celestia's social circle.
The music here was the kind that wasn't loud enough to justify shouting, but still loud enough to make conversation feel like work.
I sat at a table far too polished for my taste, pretending to care about the architectural crown molding overhead because it was easier than pretending I fit in.
Celestia leaned in toward me, her perfume soft and expensive, her silver dress catching the chandelier light like she'd been dipped in moonlight.
Her lips were close enough to my ear that her words tickled.
"It's disgusting, you know," she murmured.
"What is?"
She tipped her head toward a group across the room— suits, sparkling gowns, glasses of wine they didn't even pretend to sip. "Them. Rich people."
I blinked at her. "You're a rich people."
