The doors closed behind him.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Vincent turned to the orchestra and gave a small nod.
The musicians hesitated, then began to play again. The music entered the room gently, uncertain at first, then fuller. Guests shifted, unsure whether the evening should continue or dissolve. Lenora stood in the center of the ballroom that belonged to her and felt the ache in her shoulder pulse with every heartbeat.
She could have ended it there.
She could have left.
Instead, she walked to the small stage near the front of the room. Every step hurt. Every step steadied her.
Vincent followed but did not crowd her.
The microphone gave a soft feedback whine when she touched it. Five hundred faces turned toward her.
Lenora looked out at them and saw not power, not elegance, but people. People who had failed. People who were uncomfortable because their image of themselves as generous had collided with what they had done when generosity required risk.
