The music wasn't bad—quite the opposite, it was the kind of music made for wealthy people to feel elegant without needing to truly pay attention to what they were hearing. Soft violins, delicate piano, glasses clinking, conversations kept just quiet enough not to seem vulgar and just loud enough for everyone to be certain they were being heard.
A tall man with slightly tousled dark hair and a weary look on his face, held a champagne flute by the stem while observing the ballroom. It was full of silk, satin, jewels, and people trained since birth to appear comfortable anywhere that had enough chandeliers.
The elegant atmosphere, the sweet perfume in the air, and the tight knot of his tie around his neck were starting to make him uncomfortable. So, he walked through the guests until he reached a blond man with a neatly groomed beard who was chatting animatedly with two others. He waited for the first pause and leaned toward him.
"Rupert, is this going to take long?"
"We just arrived. Relax a little." — The blond turned to him, he raised his glass in a small gesture toward the crowded hall.
"Count Andrzej Vernetim should appear soon with his family. These events start like this, but you'll see something dazzling soon enough, my friend. Just trust me—you're going to love it."
Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the other men and resumed the lively conversation as if nothing had happened. He shook his head at the careless attitude, while the murmur of the party swallowed him again.
Then his eyes swept across the hall, carefully observing the guards. Every door, staircase, and corridor was under watch.
…I'd rather be fighting those guys.
I hate reconnaissance missions…
At that moment he noticed a glass door leading to the garden with no one guarding it. Not even the guests seemed to pay it any attention.
Maybe I'll have better luck outside.
He waited a moment, confirmed no one was watching, and calmly walked toward the door. He opened it carefully and stepped into the garden. The cool night air hit his face immediately; he stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.
"Much better…"
The party music faded into the background behind him, until he heard—
CLACK!
THUD!
Something fell on the other side of the corner of the house. He turned his head immediately, alert. Then he began to move forward slowly, rounding the corner to see what had happened.
The sight that greeted him made him halt instinctively. A woman was sitting on the ground, one hand on her ankle, with very light hair flowing over her shoulders like snow. Her skin looked pale and glowed beneath the moonlight.
A white, freezing light silently escaped from her hand toward her ankle. It flowed steadily and bright, as if the cold itself were crystallizing the ground around her foot.
He stood there, mesmerized, unable to look away. The champagne flute in his hand slowly tilted without him noticing, and the amber liquid slid down, dripping to the ground with a delicate liquid sound.
TAP TAP.
The sound immediately caught her attention. The light faded, and she lifted her head. Her eyes—like a frozen lake, sharp and icy—locked onto his.
Her face seemed to hold his gaze even more, as if it had stolen the moonlight itself. Every delicate feature, every subtle line, stood out with perfectly, and the porcelain whiteness of her skin framed her deep pale-blue eyes, making them even more striking.
But the surprise quickly gave way to severity. The mouth that had been slightly open in shock closed into a thin, unforgiving line, with a frown on the face.
"What are you doing here? Guests are supposed to remain in the hall."
He blinked, recovering from the sight he had just witnessed. He straightened the champagne flute in his hand and adjusted his tie. His eyes dropped to her ankle, noticing the delicate bare foot and the white-smoke heel resting beside it.
"Are you alright?"
Her eyes narrowed further as she covered the foot with one hand, trying to hide the icy layer slowly disappearing.
"You shouldn't be here."
Ignoring the rebuke, he lifted his gaze and noticed the second heel hanging absurdly from the frame of the open window on the second floor, swaying gently in the breeze. Looking back at her, his lips curved into an ironic smile.
"Funny… I was about to say the same thing."
"That's none of your concern!"
He remained still, observing her respond coldly, but he couldn't stop staring at her ankle.
"Maybe. But I don't think I can just ignore someone who jumps out a window… or I could just call the guards."
She stood up quickly, posture straight, looking at him with disdain. But the moment the sole of her foot touched the ground, an involuntary groan escaped her.
"Aah…!"
Instinctively she lifted the foot again, her body leaning back as she began to lose her balance.
He instinctively dropped the flute and stepped forward quickly, catching her by the waist and stopping her fall in time. The unexpected contact left her suspended for a moment, a mixture of surprise and offense.
"Let go of me!" she said angrily, trying to push him away.
"So cold."
"I said let go of me or you'll—"
"If I let go, you'll fall."
"I'd prefer that."
"No, No, you don't."
"Ugh…!" She narrowed her eyes, annoyed.
He helped her regain her balance, not letting go completely until he felt she was truly steady.
"You need to put your foot down slowly. It looks worse than you want to admit."
"Oh, are you a doctor now?" she furrowed her brow.
"Something like that." He shrugged.
She hesitated for a moment, studying him more carefully. Her gaze moved over his face, his calm posture, the confident way he was still supporting her.
"Something like that?" she repeated, unconvinced. "And since when is someone that young a doctor?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but she raised her hand, cutting him off before he could say a word.
"Don't even answer." Her eyes narrowed with a cold glint. "If you're here… you must be some kind of 'medical prodigy'."
The way she said the words made them sound less like praise and more like a small, elegant stab.
"Haha. Is that disappointment or an insult?" he asked, laughing
"Hmph…"
Before she could add anything else, he crouched in front of her. The movement was quick enough that her protest came a moment too late. Carefully, he took hold of her foot.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?"
He ignored the question as his full attention was on her ankle. There was a small swelling, but nothing too alarming. He ran his fingers gently along the joint, palpating carefully, attentive to any reaction from her.
The ankle does not seem dislocated.
Nor broken.
After a moment, he released her foot slowly.
"It doesn't look serious," he said at last. "A bit of rest and ice should be enough."
Only after saying it did he realize the irony. He lifted his eyes to her, she was watching him from above, tense, irritated, but also uncomfortably still.
"There's something else." He straightened up.
She remained silent for a moment, as if that sentence had just added another problem to her night.
Tch…
What an annoying man…
"What thing?" she asked impatiently.
"Your skin is too cold."
Her eyes widened for a moment, clearly taken aback by the remark. Her body tensed, and she turned her face away as if the comment had suddenly made her even uncomfortable.
"I get cold easily!"
He let out a small smile at how quickly the answer came.
"No. That's not what being sensitive to cold is."
"Excuse me?" She turned her face back to him immediately, offended.
He kept his gaze on her as if conducting an interrogation, assessing every movement.
"People who get cold easily feel cold," he said. "You're cold and look perfectly comfortable."
She crossed her arms, recovering her serious expression, and lifted her chin, projecting more dignity than the simple fact that she was barefoot in the garden would suggest.
"That's rude. You're being intrusive."
"Maybe."
"Quite intrusive, actually."
He accepted the accusation with a slight shrug and a nod of his head. Her gaze lingered on his longer than before.
"And who exactly do you think you are?"
He gave a small bow—more playful than formal.
"You're right. That was rude of me. You may call me Merio."
"Hmph!" she said disapprovingly. "You forgot your surname, Merio."
"Merio is enough for now."
He smiled and then leaned slightly forward, drawing a little closer to her.
"And you… do you have a name, or should I call you 'window jumper'?"
She looked stunned by the question, blinking in disbelief.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "You… you really don't know who I am?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I'm new in the city. I'm here because a friend insisted. And to be honest… this isn't really my kind of environment."
She raised an eyebrow, suspicious. Her eyes travelled from his head to toe, carefully examining every detail as if silently judging him.
"Hm… That explains a lot."
At that very moment, voices began to be heard in the yard. The sliding door on the other side of the corner opened and closed, both of them went on alert.
Merio opened his mouth, but before he could make any move, she grabbed his jacket and pushed him against the wall so they could hide.
He almost protested, but she was already pressed against him, and the two of them slipped into the shadow between the corner of the house and the narrow gap beside the tall hedge while flashlights began to sweep the grounds.