The whole ceiling is open, showing the stars and moon above. It’s made from the finest bulletproof glass. Despite the seriousness of the situation I can’t help but be transported by the beauty of it. The main ballroom has a re-creation of the original spiral staircase along its edges but much larger, like the inside of a shell, perfect circles cut out of the sides, like the holes in an abalone. The walls are creamy white, lights tingeing the smooth plaster green and blue. Twining, living vines hang from the ceiling, framing an enormous organic chandelier suspended above the dance floor, twinkling with emeralds and other jewels among the leaves. Elephants drink from a palm-framed water hole, and birds fly overhead. They’re all mechanical, their eyes cameras for security posted in the next room, available to come in at a moment’s notice if needed.

There aren’t as many people here as I would have thought, but everyone looks so sleek and stylish, they nearly put Zenith to shame. Yet they are obviously dangerous too, marked with moving tattoos and wearing their scars proudly. A few dance to music, twining their bodies together, skin pressed against skin. Others huddle together, murmuring among themselves, while some wander from group to group, hovering here to say a few words before fluttering onward, like butterflies sipping nectar from each cluster. Despite their prettiness, I cannot forget the venom they all have the ability to spread. More lines of that poem come to me:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

I straighten my shoulders and put on Tila’s sultry smile. I let her personality settle over mine. I’m Tila. I’m confident and strong. I’m unafraid. A droid leaves the bar nestled at the back and passes by, offering me a glass of champagne. I take a sip and almost choke. It’s real champagne—nothing remotely synth about it. The liquid burns slightly, and my taste buds tingle, the bubbles popping against my tongue.

I recognize some of the faces from Tila’s sketches. I stay calm—my eyes flicker over them quickly, but I don’t see the King and Queen of the Ratel.

Nazarin leaves me, mingling with others before returning. He greets me, giving me one of those small hugs you give people you don’t know very well. “Something’s not right,” he whispers in my ear. “Be careful.”

Before I can ask him more questions, he disappears, and I’m taken aback. I know we can’t be seen too much together, but surely if Tila flirted with him at a previous party, we could take up the same cover again. How can he just leave me here on my own, with what I’m about to face?