Chapter 13 - The Gala in San Francisco
The grand ballroom of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco was a sea of black ties, diamonds, and flashing camera strobes. The Pacific Rim Infrastructure Gala was Lena’s crowning public triumph—the launch of a three-billion-dollar sustainable development initiative designed to strip political corruption from urban housing.
Lena stood by the banquet table, draped in an emerald green silk gown with a daring slit that openly revealed the long, faint surgical scar on her right leg. She wore it like a battle ribbon.
Beside her, Julian looked immaculate in a tuxedo, smiling at city council members and greeting architects. But to Lena, every movement of his hands now looked like muscle memory from hand-to-hand combat training. Every tilt of his head toward the exits was threat assessment, not polite listening.
"You’re quiet tonight, Lena," Julian whispered into her ear as the mayor stepped away. He leaned down, his breath warm against her neck, his hand resting gently on the small of her back. "Are you feeling all right? Your leg isn't aching, is it?"
"My leg is fine, Julian," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. Her gaze was steady, piercing, searching for the mask. "I was just wondering how long it takes to transition from the Office of Naval Intelligence to planting petunias."
Julian’s hand went completely rigid against her back.
The smile on his face didn't falter—he was too well trained for that—but his hazel eyes contracted into dark, lethal focus.
"Lena," he said quietly, his voice pitched so low only she could hear over the string quartet. "We need to move. Right now."
"Why? Did your handler from Langley give you a new order?"
"Because the catering van that just pulled into the underground dock isn't delivering champagne," Julian said, his fingers sliding down to grip her wrist with unyielding pressure. "And Carter Sterling isn't here to talk."
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Before Lena could pull away, the crystal chandeliers above the ballroom went black.
A split second later, the sharp, deafening crack of a flashbang grenade echoed from the main entrance, followed by the terrifying scream of three hundred socialites running for their lives.
