1
I’m not Nico Duran, but if I slip tonight, the people I’m fooling won’t give me a second chance.
I adjust a champagne flute by two millimeters, not enough for a guest to notice, but perfect for the persona I’ve built of a jittery Beta with a thing for symmetry and a tendency to blink too much when spoken to.
The wig itches, bobby pins digging into my scalp, and blond bangs fall just low enough to obscure my vision. My eyes sting from the brown contacts, the makeup makes me want to scratch, and the fake glasses dig into the backs of my ears.
But discomfort is part of the job.
Nico Duran, the forgettable event staffer hired to polish crystal for Halcyon Hall’s exclusive gathering, is my disguise. I’ve spent three weeks becoming him.
Tonight, he’s my ticket to the painting that broke my grandfather.
“Those centerpieces are too high.” A harried woman in black passes by, tablet clutched to her chest. “We can’t have the guests trying to talk to each other through the flowers.”
I duck my head in deference. “Right away.”
She doesn’t register me. Just a uniform, andmaybethe fact I’m a blond. A blur of servility she’ll forget by dessert. This is what keeps me from getting caught. I’ve learned to dissolve into expectation, to be what they already assume I am.
I take out the elevation platform called for in the table diagrams and set the heavy crystal vase back in the center. Kneeling to check placement, I rotate the arrangement of white lilies and blue hydrangeas and focus past the flowers to the ceiling. Two cameras in this room alone, both with blind spots near the west-facing windows.
I file the information away as I adjust the napkins, my fingers moving in practiced motions while my gaze slides to the hallway beyond, counting the steps to the grand staircase.
Fifteen.
Double doors at the landing.
A guard is posted there now, but the rotation changes every thirty minutes. I’ve already timed two shifts.
I move to the next table, and my shoulder brushes another server, a young Omega with freckles scattered across his nose like flecks of paint.
He flushes pink. “Sorry.”
His anxiety perfumes the air, the sweet-sharp scent of an Omega out of his depth. My own scent is erased by industrial-grade scent blockers, another layer of camouflage.
If anyone ever asks about Nico, they won’t remember a single thing worth noting.
“No harm done,” I say in Nico’s higher register. “First time at Halcyon?”
“Yeah.” His eyes dart between the marble floors and the vaulted ceilings with intricate moldings. “It’s overwhelming.”
“Use the service corridors behind the kitchen. Shorter paths between rooms.” I gesture toward the hallway. “And avoid theeast wing if you can. The Alpha who owns this place doesn’t appreciate unfamiliar scents near his private collection.”
The information is a gift and a probe. The Omega’s face brightens. “Thanks. I heard there’s actual art in there worth millions.”
“More than millions.” I keep my tone casual. “There’s a Valenne.”
“A what?”
I shrug as if it’s unimportant. “It’s one of the items listed on the auction ballot. If you’re on staff tomorrow, make sure you skim it so you can answer any questions the guests have.”
I move away before he can ask more, walking to another table to adjust the center arrangement. Every glance becomes a mental snapshot, angles and timing filed away for later use. The distance between the kitchen and the main hall. The thickness of the carpet that will muffle footsteps. The windows that might serve as emergency exits with their old, simple locks.
The cool cylindrical weight of my own Valenne rests along my spine, secured in a custom holster beneath my server’s jacket. I recreated it brushstroke by brushstroke, over nine agonizing months. A perfect duplicate ofAnatomy of a Ghost. The ghost that haunted my grandfather until his death in a prison infirmary, his body failing as he whispered the secrets of his last forgery to me.
The truth of a perfect forgery isn’t in the technical skill. It’s in the obsession. You must become the artist, understand the pressure of their hand, the weight of their grief. Valenne painted his masterpiece after losing his twin. I painted mine after losing everything else.
A group of four shuffles into the ballroom, a crystal champagne fountain balanced between them. Ridiculous, excessive, and far taller than it needs to be.
