Sommer crossed her arms. "I want names, and I want them tonight."
Then, the door to the lounge clicked open.
A woman entered. Early thirties, lithe, angular like the Veil's own architecture—tight navy synth-leather dress that glimmered faintly under the lights. Her hair was pinned high, platinum with streaks of burnished gold, and her lips were sharp as her heels.
She scanned the room, then settled her gaze on Sommer.
"I'm looking for my brother," she said coolly. "Duke Verlo. He was seen coming here last week. This is the Gilded Veil, yes?"
Sommer blinked. The tension in her neck returned full-force. "He... was here, yes."