First Reply The Mask You Wear

[Valery Noble]

Denon

​

Valery had never liked gatherings like this.

Even without the mask, she didn't belong. The music was tasteful, the lighting low, and the crowd full of people who made their fortunes on someone else's loss. Some wore it well. Others didn't bother hiding it. She kept to herself, standing by one of the tall glass panels overlooking the city's spire lanes.

Her dress fit the occasion. Simple black, high slit, narrow at the waist. Not made to stand out, but not forgettable either. It gave her the movement she might need if things went wrong. The mask was subtle, black across the eyes, with sharp edges and no embellishments. It hid nothing important. That wasn't the point.

She wasn't here to mingle. The invitation had come through a buried contact, passed from one burner comm to another, tied to whispers about an exchange involving stolen artifacts. These were items meant to vanish into private vaults or dark collections. What exactly was changing hands tonight, she didn't know. But the names involved were high enough that even Denon's corporate watchdogs were keeping out of it.

So she waited. No lightsaber or Jedi title. Just another masked guest with a glass in hand and something to watch for. Someone down on the floor laughed too loudly. Across the room, two figures exchanged a datapad beneath a tray of glasses. She didn't move yet. She hadn't decided if either of them were the one she came for.

Someone else might get to her first.

First reply​

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Andrew arrived fashionably late.

That had always been the plan. Arriving early meant more time to make mistakes, more chances for someone to misread his expression or recognize something they shouldn't. But walking in when the music had settled into a sultry rhythm and the drinks were flowing meant people saw what they expected to see—confidence, affluence, purpose.

He wore a tailored white suit, striking and clean against the dim lighting, the kind of bold that came with knowing how to move in a room like this. The fabric shimmered faintly when the lights caught it just right, like moonlight through ice. Understated, but intentional. His mask covered only the upper half of his face, carved in the stylized visage of a snow owl—white with silver filigree along the edges, a nod to sharp vision and silent approach. It framed his eyes, intense and calculating, without disguising his jaw or smirk.

No weapons on him. None visible, anyway. This wasn't that kind of job.

He moved with ease through the crowd, offering a polite smile to a woman draped in emerald silk, a nod to a pair of senators sipping off-world spice cocktails. But his focus was forward—on the mezzanine, where a tall figure in a copper cape waited near a floating sculpture of rotating kyber fragments. That was the consultant. Or at least the one playing the part. He was said to be an independent weapons engineer, formerly of Republic defense contracts, now selling tech to the highest bidder, be they governments or ghosts. The kind of person you don't meet in daylight.

Andrew made his way up the steps slowly, scanning as he walked—noticing guards pretending not to be guards, servers with slight calluses on their trigger fingers, and datapads that changed hands too easily

 

[Valery Noble]

Denon

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She saw him come in.

Not because he made a scene, but because she was already watching the door. Most arrivals blurred together, locals in shimmering gowns, off-world elites in tailored nonsense. Expensive and forgettable but he wasn't.

White suit. Cut well, walked like he knew it. Not swaggering, not stiff. Controlled. The mask was clean, silver along the edges, designed to be noticed but not questioned. She made note of the details without reacting. There was a precision in how he moved that didn't match most of the crowd. He belonged here, but not for the reasons everyone else did.

Valery took a slow sip from her glass, eyes shifting just enough to follow his path through the crowd. The consultant on the mezzanine was still holding court, but something in her gut told her this new arrival wasn't here for cocktails or conversation.

She let him pass without meeting his gaze. No need to invite anything yet. But if he looked her way, he'd find her already turned back toward the city, the reflection of the ballroom lights caught faintly in the glass ahead of her.

Watching and waiting.

Andrew Lonek ​