Damon's clone bit his lip as he came to a halt in front of the Grand Duke's quarters. The door before him had a complex lock, the kind that screamed nobility and too much money.
He was starting to seriously hate how securely rich people locked their rooms.
He squatted low, inspecting the lock—trying to find a way to pick it without burning too much shadow energy.
While his clone was busy with that—
His main body was now at the center of attention.
One hand wrapped around Sylvia's waist as they waltzed across the dance floor. The two of them made for quite the sight—an elegant elven lady in white and a hooded figure shrouded in black.
The ballroom grew silent.
All eyes were on them.
Damon bit his lip again—carefully avoiding stepping on Sylvia's heels. The last person he danced with was his sister… and that was years ago.
But even more importantly—
"Crap…" he muttered.
Someone had spotted his shadow clone in the Duke's wing.
---
