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

​

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 ​

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Andrew found the consultant exactly where the briefing had said he'd be—hovering like a smug satellite beside a kinetic sculpture, its shards of crystal spinning lazily in defiance of gravity. The man was lean, middle-aged, his long fingers adorned with circuitry rings that hinted at custom neural link implants. Eyes like polished glass. A collector of secrets.


They exchanged names, or rather, aliases. Andrew offered a grip that was firm, precise. No arrogance, no deference. Just the feel of someone who'd shaken hands before closing doors others would never reopen.


"Your inquiry about the orbital shell defense protocols," the consultant said smoothly, voice barely heard over the string harmonics below, "has been noted. There's a version in prototype, still messy. But very effective. Bleeds power. Melts small things."


Andrew smirked lightly, just enough to be polite. "Melting's a fine deterrent, if it's pointed in the right direction."


"We could point it anywhere," the man said, tilting his glass. "It depends on how committed you are to owning the silence between star systems."


That was enough of that. He wasn't here to sign contracts. Not yet. The initial meeting was only meant to confirm presence, intent, and trust. And it had. Efficiently.


Andrew's attention shifted mid-sentence—just a flicker of a glance at the lower floor. A reflection in the glass, the shape of a dress, the stillness of someone who knew better than to be seen reacting.


His consultant noticed. "Old friend?"


Andrew gave a small breath of a chuckle. "Let's say I've just remembered something I meant to forget."


He excused himself gracefully, descending the mezzanine with practiced calm, weaving through a pair of dancers and pausing just long enough at the bar to retrieve a fresh drink. Not the one he was handed. The one next to it. A subtle test, and the droid failed it—poor switch, not worth the toxin it might've contained.


Then he saw her up close.


She didn't turn. Smart. But he was close enough now to confirm what the angle of her shoulders, the careful posture, and the profile in the glass already told him.


He stepped beside her slowly, not too near, offering his presence like an afterthought.


"Isn't the city always more honest when it's reflected?" he asked casually, looking ahead at the spire-lit skyline instead of at her. "You can't quite touch it. But you can almost see what it's hiding."


He turned, just enough to face her, offering his hand with the hint of a smile—professional, pleasant.


"Andrew Lonek," he said. "First time at one of these."


The mask didn't cover his charm. Or the flicker in his eyes that said he already knew who he was most likely talking to.


Tag : Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

Denon

​

Valery waited until his words had settled before she turned to face him. The skyline still held her peripheral attention, but her focus shifted to the man beside her. He had offered his hand, and so she accepted it. Her grip was steady, not overdone, and her eyes held his with a calm that said she had already taken his measure before he got within arm's reach.

"Valery Noble," she offered in return. If he knew, he knew. And she could see it in his eyes; he did. The name hadn't caught him off guard. It had confirmed something. She let a faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Not my first time at one of these," she said, her tone low and even, "but I'll admit, I sometimes wish it was."

Her eyes flicked past him for only a second, enough to confirm that the mezzanine remained undisturbed for now. She looked back.

"There's always that brief moment before it all begins, where the room feels civil and the music distracts people from the real reason they're here." She paused. "You strike me as someone who doesn't get distracted easily."

Valery didn't elaborate further. Instead, she released his hand and brought her glass back up, taking a slow sip before adding with a quieter confidence, "So what brings you here, Mr. Lonek?"

Andrew Lonek ​

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Andrew held her gaze as she spoke, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet amusement at the way she used his name. No trace of surprise in his expression—only a flicker of acknowledgment, like two sabers grazing just enough to test the heat.

"Planetary defenses," he said lightly, as if discussing wine vintages. "They're very in right now. You know how it is—nobody wants to admit they're building arsenals, but everyone wants to sleep better at night. Especially the kind of people who throw parties like this."

He gestured vaguely toward the glittering crowd behind them.

"Today's climate isn't exactly... relaxing. One minute you're leading a trade summit, the next, half your orbit gets turned into space dust by some rogue destroyer with a grudge. So, yes. I'm here on behalf of the sleep-deprived wealthy. Selling the idea of peace by making sure everyone's too well-armed to try anything stupid."

He took a sip from his glass, but his eyes never left her. There was a gleam behind them now, playful, but not careless.

"Besides," he added with a small shrug, "white suits and owl masks make for great conversation starters."

A pause. Then, a tilt of the head. More direct.

"And what about you, Valery Noble? You don't look like someone who just came for the string quartet and under-seasoned hors d'oeuvres. Let me guess…" He glanced back toward the mezzanine briefly, then returned to her. "Not the consultant. You clocked him too early. Not the auction either—you'd be in a brighter dress."

He leaned just slightly closer—not too close—voice dropping just enough to change the tone.

"So, what is it that brings you to this charming little den of secrets and distractions?"