The service elevator didn't come. Instead, the heavy steel doors stayed shut, and the hum of the gala behind them was replaced by a sudden, heavy silence."They cut the power to this wing," Julian said, his voice dropping into that low, lethal register I hadn't heard since Monday Morning Meltdown. He stepped in front of me, his tuxedo jacket bunching over his shoulders as his stance shifted from "date" to "defender."The kitchen doors swung open. Vane didn't come in with a gun; he came in with a glass of scotch and two men who looked like they were built out of granite. He looked at me, then his eyes settled on Julian with a terrifying, slow-burning recognition."I spent all night wondering why a ghost would be wearing a Tom Ford suit," Vane said, his voice echoing off the stainless steel counters. "The gait was wrong. The way you watched the chandeliers—it wasn't for the art. It was for the snipers."I felt the air leave the room. The "Plus One" charade was over. My heart hammered against my ribs, the bandage underneath my silk dress feeling like a brand."Vane, he's with me," I said, stepping forward to reclaim the lead, but Julian's hand caught my wrist. It wasn't a squeeze; it was a signal. Stay back."He's not 'with' anyone, Maya," Vane laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "This is Julian Thron. The man who cleaned up the mess in Berlin. The man who wasn't supposed to have a face. And certainly not a woman on his arm."The Revelation:
Vane tossed a grainy, thermal photograph onto a prep table. It was from Monday morning. It showed a man in a tactical mask pulling a woman out of a burning building. Even through the heat signatures, the silhouette was unmistakable."You didn't just survive the meltdown, Julian. You saved the one person who could burn my entire operation," Vane narrowed his eyes at me. "I thought you were a tool, Thron. A weapon with no heartbeat. But look at you now—playing dress-up for a girl."Julian didn't flinch. He didn't deny it. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his bespoke jacket. He didn't pull out a business card. He pulled out a small, matte-black suppressor he'd been hiding in the small of his back."The suit was her idea," Julian said, his voice cold enough to frost the glass in Vane's hand. "But the rules are still mine. And rule number one? Never interrupt the Professional when he's working."