Only the highest of the highborn heirs throughout Saxony would attend the ball at the capitol, some traveling hundreds of kilometers to attend. The same would happen in the other three states: Bellevue, in the western state of Bordeaux; Andalusia, in the northern state of La Verde; and Westminster, in the eastern state of Victoria. A few wealthy and lucky lowborn families, like the Parks, managed to buy their way into an invitation. A lowborn could bring a couple of her daughters, though neither might be spoken to, except by the most gracious or youngest or desperate of senators.
Most everyone else in the country declared it a holiday. Many glued themselves to the screen, watching the arrival of each heir at their state’s capitol, or more correctly, squint at the dress the heir had arrived in. The rest would flip through the channels, pretend not to care, claiming only to be interested in the novel, expensive commercials shown during the breaks. They would find themselves unable to look away, though. Gossip would be created, repeated, and amended over the course of the night by journalists who had lost their integrity years before.
Everyone took the day as an opportunity to feast and drink and find partners of their own.
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Even criminals.
Indeed, the Closing Ball signaled a holiday for the militia as well. Despite a few drunken arguments between family members and new lovers, the day and night tended to be fairly quiet for the blackcoats.
Too many people were too busy making babies.
And next August, every doctor would be busy in every delivery room.
“Happy Closing Day,” Sutton said behind Lila, startling her as she turned down another gravel path. “That might be the first time in a very long time I’ve surprised you.”
“I was just coming to see you.”
Sutton joined her in her walk. Their boots crunched the gravel underfoot.
“Tell me how.”
“How?” Lila asked.
“How you knew that someone had broken into the family garage. As well as why you’d ask for an investigation the same day you returned home without your beloved Firefly.”
“My bike is in the shop. I’m having some work done.”
“Captain McKinley and I watched the footage. Someone did something to your bike. I also watched the footage from last night, thinking the culprit might return. I saw a great deal of hesitation on your part to borrow your sister’s Firefly.”
The commander paused in their walk, her shoulders tensing. “You’re making it very difficult for me to do my job and keep you safe. Let me give you a rundown of my evening. No prints. No visual on the suspect except for red—”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“McKinley and I recovered a set of plugs wired into the lights. Someone used them to remotely switch off the motion sensors. They weren’t homemade, so McKinley’s going to track that angle and hope for the best.”
Lila wondered if Shirley had been doing the same with the devices that she’d pulled from her motorcycle. Perhaps Tristan had stopped her. Perhaps he didn’t care any longer, not even about her safety.
Her chest tightened as she recalled the pained way he’d looked at her the day before, waiting for her to say something after returning her bag.
Lila put those thoughts away.
She didn’t have time for them.
Instead, she slid her thoughts back to Sutton and back to work.
Always back to work.
“That sounds like a promising lead,” Lila said.
“It’s all we have. Until then, the garage is under surveillance. All vehicles will be checked before they leave the garage for tampering.”
Lila tried not to groan as they stopped in front of the security office, the glass and steel rising above them. “Update me when you have some—”
A cracking ping sounded in the foggy morning. A glass panel above Lila’s head cracked, leaving behind a spider’s web and a pinkie-sized hole.
Sutton shoved her to the ground, and the pair flattened themselves on the sidewalk.