A few guests offered warm, encouraging laughter.

Liora stood. This time the coordinator didn’t intervene.

She took the microphone from the stand, but she didn’t look at my father. She didn’t look at her husband. Her eyes tracked across the ballroom until they found me in the shadows of Table 42.

Her jaw tightened. Her bouquet trembled once before she pushed it into Calder’s hands. She stepped forward, her posture straightening into a rigid line of discipline.

The ballroom went so quiet I could hear the hum of the air conditioning.

Liora lifted her right hand sharply to her temple. A flawless salute.