The attention of the paparazzi was so intensely focused on Azriel and Jasmine that none of them noticed the third figure stepping out of the car.
Nol.
Dressed in the same uniform as Azriel, he calmly approached the swarm of cameras. With an innocent grin, he waved brightly at them.
If any of them had been ordinary people, their eyes might've gone blind from the flashes. But none of the three were even remotely normal.
Linked arm-in-arm, Azriel and Jasmine moved toward the entrance. Nol followed a single step behind, slipping quietly into the auction house just as the doors sealed shut behind them.
Silence.
It felt as though they had stepped into another world. The noise from outside was gone—replaced by a deep, sacred quiet that hung in the entrance hall like a veil.
Before they could take another step, a man with tousled orange hair hurried toward them. He wore a clean-cut suit, and though he smiled, the nerves behind it were impossible to miss.
