At nine o’clock, late in the evening, Raven approached Gabriel, his walk uneven, a slight limp. Gabriel took note and stepped forward to assist. "Are you well? Where is your cane?"

Raven dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand. "I am perfectly fine. It would hardly serve as a convincing disguise if the sole young gentleman in town were seen clutching his cane. I have managed without it on more than one occasion."

The two proceeded into the gathering. "A Venetian mask, Gabriel, mysterious yet elegant. I must commend your choice," Raven observed. Gabriel nodded his head with a faint smile. "Volto con Becco, rather ironic for a man named after a bird?" Raven allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "Too on the beak?"

"On the contrary," Gabriel replied, "it is quite the perfect disguise. They may even take you for me. You resemble a crow far more than a raven." Raven returned his smile, shaking his head. "Impossible. They would know the moment they discovered I cannot fit in their pockets."

Gabriel intercepted two glasses from a passing footman and handed one to his friend. "Let us enjoy ourselves this evening, though not excessively, unless you fancy paying me twenty pounds."

Raven lifted his glass and took a measured sip. "Who is to say I will not make the acquaintance of the lovely Katheryn tonight?" 

Gabriel’s smile deepened, he gave a shrug as he pointed around the room. "You would have to find her first."  The two lightly tapped their glasses together and parted ways, each slipping into different parts of the party.

Raven made his way toward an old friend and called out warmly, “How are you, good man?”

The gentleman turned, his smile breaking across his face as he saw him. “Raven!” he exclaimed, enthusiastic yet sincere. “I’ve been splendid. And you? Holding up well?”

“Not too badly,” Raven replied. “The leg doesn’t trouble me anymore, though walking without that blasted cane is still a trial. But I’ll have you know, I walked here tonight without it.”

The man nodded approvingly. “Well done. You’ve always been infuriatingly optimistic. I know a lofty gentleman with a cane, a complete ladies’ man, and a total marplot. And get this, he has the name of a bird.”

Both men laughed heartily and took another drink.

“If I weren’t married,” Rylar said with a sly grin, “I’d be enjoying this party even more.” Raven chuckled. “Marriage can’t be so dreadful. Tell me, how is Ruth?”

Rylar took a thoughtful sip. “She’s well. She’s here tonight, no doubt mingling with the other bank drainers.” He smirked and set down his glass. “I jest, of course. Marriage isn’t all bad. Far more rewarding to have one soul truly care for you than to surround yourself with many who do not.”

“Well put,” said Raven, placing his own drink aside. “Soon enough for me, perhaps. Now, where is that snake Garfield slithering about?”

Rylar tilted his head toward two gentlemen across the room. “Over there. But really, Raven, do give him a little grace. He may be dreadful with women and worse at hearing ‘no,’ which is a most unfortunate combination, but he is your cousin.”

Raven rose, smoothing his coat. “Indeed. I shall extend him a grace, just as soon as he ceases harassing the elderly. If he were half the businessman he claims to be, he’d realize the client isn’t buying what he’s peddling.”

With a nod of farewell, he crossed the room and approached the pair.

Extending his hand, Raven greeted him coolly. “Garfield, it has been ages.” Mr. Hawk inclined his head. “Indeed it has, Raven. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we are discussing business.”

Raven waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, lighten up, Garfield. It’s a party, after all, and clearly this gentleman came to enjoy himself, not talk shop.”

The other man smiled in agreement and extended his hand. “Couldn’t have put it better myself. Robin Fullmore.”

“Raven Dawson,” he replied, shaking firmly. “And do pardon my cousin, he seems to have grown older without acquiring the corresponding manners.”

The two men excused themselves from Hawk and strolled together through the throng. “I believe I’ve seen you in my café before,” Mr. Fullmore remarked, more a statement than a question. “Usually with a shorter fellow. Creatures of habit, are we?”

“Guilty as charged,” Raven said, smiling. “And might I add, sir, your establishment serves the finest pie in London.”

Mr. Fullmore smirked modestly, clearly pleased. “Old family recipe. My grandmother was quite the baker.”

While Raven and Mr. Fullmore continued their conversation, Gabriel slipped quietly onto the balcony. The cool night air met him, and he noticed a striking woman standing alone, everything above her nose hidden by an elegant mask.

She spoke first. “The lavatory is downstairs.” Gabriel shook his head. “I am not looking for a lavatory. Might I join you?”

“That is entirely your affair,” she said, her tone carrying a faint sorrow that caught his ear. He stepped closer. “May I inquire what troubles you, madam?”

“I doubt you would understand,” she replied, soft but firm. “And I would hate to burden you if you did.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “Even so, I wonder. Share your grief with me, even if only for tonight.”

She hesitated before answering. “I lost my mother. Several months have passed, yet nothing, no diversion, has truly made me smile since.”

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, then spoke truly. “You were right. I cannot fathom such a loss. I’ve never known a family, there's only one man I count as a brother. But grief, I know that well. Even when one laughs or smiles, it remains.”

“Then, what does one do?” she muttered, not expecting a reply.

He gave one anyway. “One dulls it. Some choose to drink, some recklessness, some anger. I prefer love. Something, or someone, to care for. And when that too is lost... you endure, and begin again.”

She tilted her head, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Wise words, and kind of you to offer them. But tell me, why did you come out here?”

Gabriel sighed. “Honestly, I detest these gatherings.” She reached up and straightened his crooked mask. “And why is that?”

“They’re dreadfully dull,” he said dryly. “Especially when sober. And I never leave with my gallant friend, he always departs with at least one lady clinging to his arm. All the more reason to slip away early.” A quiet amusement flickered on her lips. “Then, may I borrow your arm for the evening?”

"Of course," Gabriel gave her a slight bow. “will grant me your name.” She shook her head, her eyes glinting behind the mask. “That would spoil the illusion of mystery. If you remain here when the night is done, perhaps then you shall hear it.”

“Tell me, Mr. Dawson, have you ever given thought to matrimony?” asked Mr. Fullmore, the two seated comfortably, drink in hand.

Raven smirked. “Who hasn't? I've had no shortage of offers, from fathers, nobles, and the like. But truth be told, most of their daughters possess little above the neckline.”

The remark drew a hearty laugh from Fullmore. “I said near the same, when I was your age.” He glanced into his glass, the mirth dimming. “Then I met Jewel. A brilliant woman, with a heart for teaching young minds. But, one cannot live as long as I have and keep hold of all one cherishes.”

He lifted his drink halfway, paused, then lowered it again. Raven noted the hesitation, though he said nothing.

“Marriage,” Fullmore murmured, more to himself than to his company.

At that moment, a woman crossed the far end of the room. She and Raven exchanged a glance, brief, but sharp.

Fullmore caught it and smiled knowingly. “Now there stands a clever one. Mind you, she has little patience for foolish talk, shuts it down the moment she sees a way out.”

Raven rolled the glass slowly in his hand, watching it catch the lamplight. “Then I'd best speak swiftly.”

Fullmore tipped his glass once more. “To marriage.”

“To marriage,” Raven echoed, tapping the rim, then rose with purpose to make his approach.

Raven made his way across the room, in his way he placed his glass down and continued on. He grabbed two drinks from the attendant and stopped behind the woman who was turned around. “Drinks madam?” He asked firmly.

“Yes, thank you.” She said turning around, expecting a server. As she did, Raven handed her the glass. There was a slight hint of surprise in her face. “Not what you were expecting?” He asked with a warm smile.

She accepted the glass, steady and composed. “No, but at these events, there’s always at least one man who trades subtlety for showmanship.”

Raven smirked as he raised his glass beside hers. “And here I was, rather pleased with my subtlety. Clearly, I misjudged the standard.”

She did not turn, only sipped her drink with quiet composure. “It isn’t subtlety, when one announces it aloud.”

“True,” he replied, watching the crowd as she did. “Though I find conversation tends to improve once everyone stops pretending they aren’t part of it.”

There was a pause, and then, delicately, she said, “Some conversations arrive uninvited and linger out of habit rather than merit.”

He inclined his head slightly. “A fair observation, though I flatter myself, this one might manage to be both.”

She turned just enough to meet his eyes, briefly, without warmth. “Flattery tends to announce itself as well.”

Raven smiled, soft and unbothered. “Then allow me to rephrase. I was curious, and perhaps just foolish enough to act on it.”

She considered him for a moment, then looked away. “Curiosity has never been a virtue at these gatherings. At least, not one often rewarded.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping, “but I’ve always preferred interesting failures to dull successes.”

She gave the faintest of smiles, so faint it could have been imagined. “Then I suppose you’ll find this evening quite memorable.”

“More so with every passing moment,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “Should I take that as permission to remember you, or encouragement to forget myself?”

Her expression didn’t change, though her voice softened by a fraction. “Whichever is the quieter choice.” Raven bowed his head, properly this time. “Then I'll take my leave for now, may I ask you to dance when the time arrives."

“You may ask, sir. Whether I accept,” she paused, letting the sentence hang like a ribbon in the air, “depends on whether I’m still listening when you do.”

Raven inclined his head, unfazed. “Then I shall speak softly, so you’ll have reason to listen closely.”

At last, she turned, not fully, but enough for him to see her expression beneath the mask. Calm, composed, and then, just briefly, the smallest smile touched the corner of her mouth. “We’ll see,” she said, voice as smooth as the silk of her gown, and with that, she lifted her glass and took a slow, unhurried sip.

Gabriel and his mysterious company stepped down from the balcony and made their way toward the heart of the gathering. As they moved, Gabriel slowed, catching sight of a familiar face in conversation with a tall man in an expensive suit.

“Mr. Nevil,” Gabriel called. The man turned, his face lighting up at once. “Mr. Crow!” he greeted warmly, shaking Gabriel’s hand. 

“Please, Rylar, if you don’t mind. It’s been ages. I saw Dawson not too long ago, actually.”

Gabriel gave a knowing nod. “Yes, we came in together. Though, knowing him he’ll leave with at least one person he didn’t arrive with.”

Rylar laughed, then turned toward the man he’d been speaking with. “Ah, pardon me. This is Ion Draven, a business partner of mine from Romania.”

Gabriel and the man exchanged a firm handshake as Rylar added, “Though he’s spent most of his life here in England. This is his first time in London, on business, naturally.”

Mr. Draven cut in, his voice low and deliberate, touched with the faintest trace of an accent. “A pleasure, Mr. Crow. London is louder than I imagined, but there’s charm buried beneath the noise.”

Gabriel offered a measured smile. “It tends to reveal itself, if you know where to look.”

Draven inclined his head, his gaze keen. “And do you?”

“On good nights,” Gabriel replied. “This may yet be one of them.”

Rylar gave a soft laugh. “It will be now.” He turned toward the woman at Gabriel’s side, offering a polite nod and a familiar smile. “Always a pleasure, miss.”

She returned the smile, her voice light but practiced. “Rylar. I haven’t seen you since my father’s gathering.”

“And I’ve only grown more agreeable since,” he said with a smirk, before shifting his eyes back to Gabriel. “Though given he's yet to introduce you, I take it your name is part of the evening’s intrigue?”

“Indeed,” Gabriel said readily, not missing a beat. Draven sipped his glass before adding, “Every good gathering deserves a little mystery.”

As the two continued further into the evening’s festivities, Raven made his approach toward the host of the gathering.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Raven began as he drew near. Graham turned and offered his hand, his smile practiced, bordering on strained. “Raven.”

“A pleasure to see you again,” Raven said as he settled beside him. “Quite the gathering.”

Graham gave a faint nod, saying nothing, his gaze drifting over the crowd. The silence between them lingered, companionable but edged, until Raven broke it.

“It was your wife's idea.”

Graham nodded again, and something in the comment drew out a laugh from them both, brief, unforced. When the moment passed, Raven continued, “You’ll be a father soon.”

Graham let out a quiet breath, the corners of his mouth twitching with something like apprehension. “Yes. I will.”

Raven placed a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations. Are you prepared?” Graham gave a modest shrug. “Is any man?”

He set his glass upon a nearby table. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since…” he trailed off, searching. "It’s been some time. Good to see you.” Raven gave a small nod. “You as well. It's been close to a year. My mistake really. How is your wife?”

Graham turned until his eyes found her amidst the crowd. “She has been perfect,” he said with a soft smile, “in both the best and most exasperating ways.” He looked back at Raven. “And you, has the great Mr. Dawson finally decided to trade solitude for companionship?”

Raven gave an indifferent shrug. “Perhaps. Later, perhaps. Sooner ideally.” Graham retrieved his glass and raised it lightly. “The bachelor’s life is a lonely one, even for legendary ones. I’ll drink to the hope of it being sooner.”

Their glasses met with a soft clink, and they drank.