"I am not drooling," Heena replied mentally, though her dark eyes took their sweet time sweeping from a young man in translucent lilac silk all the way over to a sultry beauty biting his painted lower lip on the second-floor balcony. "I am analyzing the visual merchandising. Look at the way their robes are draped. And more importantly, smell the air."
The System paused, taking a digital whiff of the surroundings before pulling a face. "Ugh. It smells like someone dumped twenty pounds of crushed peonies into a vat of cheap lard."
"Exactly," Heena murmured, a cold, sharp glint cutting through her appreciative gaze.
As she walked slowly down the lantern-lined avenue, her senses—honed by years of working with both deadly toxins and high-court luxuries—dissected the atmosphere. The men were stunning, yes, with their soft curves, delicate features, and expertly bared collarbones. Better yet, she didn't have to pay a single copper coin to enjoy the view from the street.
