#*prayer circle*

“Don’t let go.” The words escape your lips before you can do anything about it. Connor’s grip tightens around you and you take a deep breath. This moment should last forever, but you know it won’t. Besides, there’s work to do. So painfully slowly you unlink your arms, letting them fall to Connor’s side, and open your eyes again.

“Thank you so much, Connor.” You hope that these five words are enough to express the deep gratitude you feel right now. Like an anchor, Connor keeps you grounded, keeps you safe.

“You’re very welcome.” Connor murmurs softly and he lets go of you too. You know it’s sappy, but suddenly you feel colder without him. Truth be told, it has become colder in Detroit and you’re glad you’re wearing your warmest jacket.

You roll your shoulders and give yourself a mental shove. Your next mission is finding costumes for you and Connor. No point in looking at the small costume shops scattered across town. At best, you’ll find a costume you might even like, but can’t take, because it’s not fancy enough. At worst, you run into one of these dubious shops, aimed at people who like dressing up their androids. No, your destination is the biggest shopping mall in Detroit.

You feel immediately warmer as you step into the mall. You’ve come to know the mall like the back of your hand, strolling through the shops, enjoying a hot drink in the small coffee houses, or doing grocery shopping. Not today.

Your destination is Hills Fashion, the first clothes shop that pops into your head when you think about timeless, fashionable clothing. It used to be reserved for the upper side of Detroit. However, nowadays the wealthy middle-class can afford some pieces too. Several shop assistant androids roam the boutique, eager to give advice or fetch the right-sized piece of clothing. They are giving you polite smiles as you stride through the boutique. At the right end of the boutique, close to the evening gowns and the tuxedos, hang the Halloween costumes. The costumes look so authentic you don’t even know what to look at first.  

Connor will get a costume first, so you move towards the men’s section. The first costume immediately catches your eye. Perfect, you think, a smirk spreading on your face and you take it. You walk towards the dressing room, eager to see Connor trying it on.

“Please try it on. No talking back, trust me on this.” you say, preventing Connor from expressing his opinion. He does raise an eyebrow, but you press the costume into his hands and gently push him towards one of the cabins.

“I wonder what your perception of me in this costume will be.” Connor says after a short moment and pulls away the curtains.

Oh no, he’s very hot; it’s the only coherent thought your mind can come up with. You’ve always considered Connor handsome. Cyberlife has never held back when it comes to designing attractive androids, and Connor really is the prime example of how they accomplished to create good-looking machines. But Connor in the costume is something else. The black pants, although similar to those he usually wears, cling to his hips perfectly. He’s wearing a gray vest that fits him so well, you wish that Cyberlife had made him wear one from the start instead of his jacket. The black cape flows around him to his hips. On other men, it might have been over the top, but with Connor, it just completes the costume.

Your mouth wide open, you wish you could force your brain to work again, but all it does is processing the sight of Connor, dressed up as Dracula. Hot! Sexy! Perfect! – your brain is not doing much right now.

“You look really nice.” you finally manage to say, tilting your head so it seems as if you’re further analyzing him. Connor gives you a court nod, then looks around in the dress room, as if he’s checking something.

“(Y/n).” It’s the way he pronounces your name, in a cautious and hushed tone, that makes you immediately snap out of your bubble. “Given my current predicament, do you consider it wise for me to dress up as one of the most iconic vampires?” How casually he talks about the fact that he drank human blood – although it was only once – still continues to baffle you.

“My mother once told me that the best lies were the ones closest to the truth. So dressing up as a vampire is the best way to hide your current predicament.” you explain, and you can’t help but pronounce the two last words more than you needed to.

“Your reasoning does make sense.” Connor answers after a while, scratching his chin, another human tic he must have adopted. You watch as a muscle in his jaw tenses, he stands up straighter and an iron resolve washes over his features. You call this Connor in his mission-mode.

“Wait here. I’ve already spotted a costume for you.” Connor announces and before you can do or say anything, you watch Dracula leave you. It doesn’t take long for Connor to return, carrying a stunning pale blue dress in his arms.

“Try this on, please.” Connor requests and you look at the dress more closely. The cerulean, strapless corset is close-fitting, adorned on the sides with small pearls and moon stones. The A-line skirt reminds you of the sea, gradually changing from arctic blue to azure, ending below your knees. A tulle layer peaks out underneath the skirt to make it flare and the stones and pearls look like stars reflecting their light on the endless ocean.  

You take the dress to try it on, careful not to make the smallest tear. The silky skirt slithers over your skin and the corset fits like a glove. You look like a fairy as you twirl around, the skirt billowing around you.

A fairy, you ponder. A memory flashes before your eyes: you see yourself sitting in her lap as your grandmother tells you a fairy tale about Pinocchio, a puppet boy who wishes to become a real human boy for his father and gets his wish granted by a blue fairy. Your reflection stares back at you with a wistful expression on its face. What if the fairy also wishes for someone to become human? The thought has barely slipped through your mind before you reprimand yourself for it. Do not give into hope when there is none. You have to accept reality as it is.

“Voilà!” you shout happily as you jump out of the cabin into the dressing room. You feel Connor’s assessing gaze on you as you await his judgment, spinning around.

“The costume suits you and it will serve its purpose for the evening.” Connor states and you try to ignore the blow of irritation his words make you feel and school your face. His LED turns yellow and after watching him processing information, you could swear that Connor blushes, a slight blue shimmer on his cheeks. “This was not very socially adept of me. What I mean to add is, you look really nice too.”

A content giggle escapes your throat and you skip closer to Connor, looking at both of you in the reflection of the giant mirror hanging across the cabins.

“We look great.” you proudly announce. Your reflection beams back at you, with Connor’s corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

“I agree.” a woman announces, and you notice the third person inside the dressing room. Helena Mills cuts a striking figure, her auburn hair, free of any gray strands, are coiffed in an elegant bun. She’s wearing a green jumpsuit complimenting her slim figure, red hair and her fair complexion.

“Thanks Ma’am.” you answer politely. Helena is approaching, circling both of you. However, her interest seems to belong entirely to Connor, who she’s eyeing with interest. She’s almost ogling him, and you’re reminded of someone standing in front of the butcher, trying to find the best piece of meat. It unsettles you.

“How peculiar. I pride myself on being up-to-date with the latest android models, but I can’t figure out what model this is exactly. A new companion model?” It’s the way she says it that almost drives you over the edge: condescending yet self-reliant, believing she knows everything. You can’t do anything about it, you put yourself in front of Connor, ready to shield him from her.

“It’s fine if you don’t know this, but Connor is the newest prototype, an RK800 model investigating deviant cases. He’s not a companion model.” Your voice is sugar hiding the sweetest poison and you almost hiss the last sentence. You’ve inched closer, your back almost hitting Connor’s chest, but you don’t care. This woman has no right to stare at him this way.

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” Connor says his trademark sentence, but you notice that he’s saying it with a chilly undertone.

“My apologies. You two look close, you had me fooled.” Helena’s last words still ring in your ears after she’d left, and now you’re putting your clothes back on. Connor’s already waiting for you, dressed in his usual clothing, his jacket letting everyone know what he is; there would be no mistaking him now.

Before heading to the exit, you quickly check the accessories section and find what you need to make the costumes perfect: a silver wand for you and fake fangs for Connor. You choose not to look at the price as you pay at the exit, hoping that the department will refund at least a small part.

With Connor carrying the shopping bags, you wonder what to do next. You know that going back to the police station is out of the question. You can almost hear Hank bellowing at you to get out of here, to gather your strength for the evening. It’s still too early for lunch and you’re in no mood to take a stroll through the mall.

“Let’s go home, Connor.” you say and you secretly like how easy, how natural the little sentence rolls over your tongue. Connor doesn’t say anything but gives you a court nod and you curse Helena internally. Damn her and her comment about you and Connor being close. While your heart agrees, your mind knows that this has made Connor put some distance between himself and you. He’s walking two steps behind you and you know that unless you say something, he won’t converse either. His body language says enough: not only is he keeping his distance, he’s also leaning backwards, walking as straight as he can. He’s not turned towards you. Truth be told, it upsets you.

This is going to be a long day, you think as you enter your apartment. You walk into the living room and have no clue what to do. After putting down the bags, Connor stops in front of your little library, apparently picking up where he has stopped yesterday. You take your tablet to occupy your mind and your hands, switching between articles about Cordelia Lorde and videos of cute animals. Connor is reading Pride and Prejudice. Interesting choice of books, you think as a small smile spreads on your lips at the sight of Connor, completely immersed in Netherfield, his gaze glued to the pages, leaning forwards as if he wants to fall into the book.

After watching enough dogs in the snow, you decide to quit wasting time and do something. You catch up on your shows. You tidy up your bathroom. You rearrange your pillows. You clear out your wardrobe. Not in the mood for cooking, you just wolf down a few pieces of toast. You take out the trash. In fact, you do all the things you’ve postponed because you’ve never had the time to do them. A small voice inside of you hisses that the chores keep your mind and hands occupied, but you don’t mind it, as it is true. Better to clean than to have another panic attack.

You’re about to clean the living room when you notice that Connor is no longer sitting, but he has stood up. His arms are crossed, and he gives you a sharp glare.

“Stop.” he says firmly, almost ordering you and you raise your chin up. “You’ll only tire yourself out. I advise you to rest before the evening party. I gather that such events can take long, so you should be as rested as possible.”

“God, I hate it when you’re right!” Secretly, you’ve had this thought more than once after meeting Connor, but this time you actually voice it. You turn around and storm off into your bedroom. You regret your sudden outburst the moment you close the door. Connor only meant well. Yet your hand hovers over the doorknob. Maybe it’s best to take Connor’s advice. A nap can only do you some good. Maybe you just need to cool down.

You’re gone the moment your head hits the pillow.

You wake up, rested but with a fuzzy feeling in your head. How long did you nap? You check the alarm clock on your nightstand and let out a loud yelp. Dashing into the bathroom, you confirm your worst suspicions: your hair is a tangled mess and you’re sweaty because you’ve slept in your clothes. You burst into the living room to see Connor sitting in his armchair, already dressed in his costume, still reading Pride and Prejudice. At least he’s ready.

“(Y/n)”, he greets you. “It’s good that you’re awake. I was about to wake you up. We mustn’t be late.”

“I know. Now I may be rested, but I’m stressed!” you answer, your voice shrill. You grab the bag from Hills Fashion and return into the bathroom. This time you shower faster. No time to lose.

Your heartbeat slows down the moment your reflection shows you dressed in the fairy costume. Your hair is in a braided chignon, a few strands framing your rouged face. The fake LED is sticking to your temple. Silver stilettos complete the outfit. You reach into the bag to retrieve your wand and notice that the fake fangs are still lying in it.

This time you don’t burst into the living room but enter it calmly, crossing the distance between yourself and Dracula.

“Connor.” you call out kindly, and he rises from the armchair. He hasn’t said anything, his expression guarded. His gaze darts towards your temple and his eyes widen, only for a small moment. You open your hand to reveal the fake fangs and he immediately perceives what must be done.

“You don’t mind?” Connor asks, allowing you instead of him to choose what will happen next.

“Not at all.” You hope that Connor understands that this is your way of making up for your last outburst. Putting the glue on the fake fangs, you wait for Connor to open his mouth a little. You steel your heart to remain calm while you press the first fang against Connor’s incisor. Satisfied with the result, you repeat the procedure with the second one.

“Now you look perfect.” you say with a smile. Connor really looks like a vampire now. He looks dashing, as if he’d jumped right out from the cover of a vampire novel. Fake blood would make it complete, but there’s a reason you chose not to buy the vials of red liquid you’ve seen in the store. One mustn’t tempt fate. You pray that this incident with human blood won’t happen again. You’re terrified that it could only bring misery to Connor and heartache to you.

“So do you.” Connor sounds genuine and you blush at his words.

Bringing some distance between you and him, you twirl around, grab your black coat and your silver clutch containing the invitations, and head to the door. The taxi Connor had called arrives immediately. You’re too lazy to walk to the precinct at this time and with this weather.

You can’t explain the weird unreality you feel as you enter the precinct, your makeup and hairdo flawless, wearing a blue silken dream, with Dracula walking next to you. You move slowly, careful not to get a wrinkle in your dress and you wish that you were better at wearing high-heels.

“A fairy and a vampire walk into a police station…” Chris jokes good-humoredly, his smile reaching his eyes. As you and Connor close in to Hank’s desk, you flash Chris a joyous grin. The grin fades away when you notice Hank’s empty chair. You’ve hoped that he would be here.

“Who knew that you could dress up so nicely.” Gavin sneers and you roll your eyes. He’s leaning against the wall and you hadn’t noticed him before. Why must he be such a prick? You know that Gavin does have a good side. It’s just very easy to miss.

“And you dress up as a douche? Really nailed it.” Your quip seems to hit a target, as Gavin leaves in a huff, grabbing his jacket and heading for the exit.

You hear Hank’s barking laugh and turn your head to see him coming from the cafeteria, a hot beverage in hand. If he looks any grumpier, he would scare children, you think as you wait for him to arrive at his desk. There are coffee stains on his shirt and even your best concealer couldn’t hide his eye bags.

“Good one, kiddo. Gavin deserved it. Hell, he always deserves something.” Hank says after sitting down in his chair and you watch him take a big gulp of his drink. Before he can say anything, you hear the captain’s office door opening and watch Fowler approach you. His authoritarian presence always makes you stand up straight. His stern gaze flies over you and Connor and he nods slowly. Coming from Fowler, this is as much praise as it can get.

“As Hank has already explained to you, you will be on your own. You can’t imagine the hell I went through just to get these two tickets.” Fowler’s stern gaze loses focus for a moment, and his flat tone doesn’t hide the chagrin in his eyes or that his shoulders sagged a little. “Find deviants. We need to advance in this investigation.” Fowler doesn’t waste any more time and heads back to his office. You know that there’s nothing more to do here either. Your instructions are clear, you know what to do. Now it’s up to you and Connor.

A small part of you wishes that the lieutenant would say something to you, that he would encourage you, but you know that this isn’t Hank’s style. His eyes are glued to the screen of the PC and from the corner of your eye, you quickly read Lena Williams. Guilt coils up in your stomach; Hank is doing your work. This is the report you’re supposed to write and he’s covering for you.

You turn around to leave, clutching your purse, your eyes fixed on the ground, the clicking of your stilettos echoing the clicking of Hank’s keyboard.

“(Y/n), Connor, come here!” Hank barks and you turn around to see him standing close to the windows. When did he get up and why? You do as he demands, and watch Hank take out his phone. Everyone knows that Hank is not fond of technology. You once saw him screaming at his phone because he had accidentally deleted a picture of Sumo.

“You two, don’t look as if you’re two deer in headlights. Smile!” His order snaps you out of your confusion and now you understand: Hank wants to take a picture of you and Connor. Joy warms you up from the inside better than any alcohol could, and you beam at Hank. With a subtle side glance, you notice that the corners of Connor’s mouth are also turning up.

You watch Hank take several pictures and pray that they don’t get deleted. You’ll absolutely ask Hank if he can send them to you. You need these pictures. He checks them, but the slight frown on his face seems to indicate that he’s not satisfied yet.

“Get closer. On the picture you look as if you two are strangers.” Hank instructs, and you take the initiative to move closer to Connor. He’s taller, so you take a small step forward, choosing the position that can only be described as standing in front of him and next to him at the same time. Your arms make contact, your bare skin touching his shirt. You will your breathing to be even and hope that Connor doesn’t pick up on your rapid heartbeat. You could reach out for his hand, but you’re a chicken. Instead, you gently incline your head so that on the picture it will look as if you’re resting your head on his shoulder. Somehow, this reminds you of parents taking pictures of their children and their date for the high school ball and you have to fight to keep up the smile.

“All right then, that’s enough.” Hank says and puts his phone away and you release your breath. Hank looks at both of you for a second, his jaw locked. “Show these rich bastards how to party. Take care.” The last two words are almost whispered and a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen takes over Hank.

“We’ll do.” Both of you reply at the same time, causing you to giggle about the fact of how in sync you are. No longer wanting to waste any more time, you leave the station, heading towards the cab that will take you to Cordelia Lorde’s mansion. You stare out of the window, anxious to keep your mind empty.

“Wow.” you gasp when the cab pulls into a circular driveway, parking next to foreign, expensive cars and even a few limousines. Like moths drawn to a flame, you watch people walk towards the brightly-lit mansion of Cordelia Lorde. Even from afar it looks magnificent, the white marble structure shining like a star in the night.

The doors of the cab open and you step outside, the cold immediately cutting into you. You hiss in the crisp, freezing air and you head for the mansion, walking as fast as you can in your heels, trying not to slip on the frozen concrete.  

“I hope the cold is not too uncomfortable.” Connor says next to you, easily keeping up with you and you raise your hands to blow into them. The cold will never bother him. One of the many perks of being an android.

“You have no idea. I’m turning into a human Popsicle.” you whimper. The cream tights you’re wearing underneath your dress could as well be made from paper, for they don’t keep the cold from your skin. You snuggle into your black greatcoat, grateful for the warmth it provides.

Before you can enter the mansion, you realize, you have to show your invitation to the people – androids or humans, you can’t tell – dressed in black who roam the space in front of the massive iron front door. Several sleek outdoor heaters are providing the much-desired warmth and servants dressed in white walk around with steaming cups. There aren’t many people outside, but the few who are still waiting for their invitation to be checked, all wear masks.

“Connor why do all these people wear masks?” your voice is calm, but inside of you, anxiety raises its ugly head. Did you miss something? You look again, careful not to miss something. Not only is everyone wearing LEDs, but also breathtaking Venetian masks. You and Connor stand out. Great.

“I don’t know. There was no note of masks in the invitation.” Connor replies and you fight the urge to rub your hands. You’ll have to roll with it. After your invitations are controlled, you are granted entrance.

As you enter through the front door, the first thing that happens is that Cordelia Lorde’s staff relieves you off your coat, bringing it into an adjoining room. You see black-dressed people keeping a watchful eye on the entrance. It eases your mind that Cordelia does have security. One can never be too sure, especially at such events.

As you watch the room you’ve just entered, the first thing you notice is the big staircase occupying the foyer. Red carpets mark the path to go on the marble floor, with golden chandeliers illuminating the room and bathing everyone in a warm glow. Pictures you can’t imagine the worth grace the ebony-lined walls. You think that some of the art could be by Carl Manfred. In short, you’ve only entered but you already feel abundance, the extravagance and the wealth overwhelm you.

Slowly walking forwards, you realize that the red carpet doesn’t lead you towards the staircase, but to a big double door made of mahogany. You notice a signpost at the bottom of the staircase, advising everyone not to explore. Dear guests, please do not cross this point. Respect the private quarters. Trespassers will be excluded.

“Connor look.” you whisper and nudge him gently, your head tilting towards the staircase. “I don’t like it that there are quarters we shouldn’t visit. I like to know the whole area. Who knows what could happen there? Moreover, it could leave us exposed.”

“I agree.” Connor replies in hushed tones, leaning towards you, his breath tickling your ear. You watch as his LED turns yellow, focusing on his face. Whatever Connor is processing, he doesn’t seem to like it. His eyebrows are furrowing, a muscle in his jaw tenses and his gaze wanders over the whole mansion. “This doesn’t make any sense. I can’t find any information about this mansion, especially the layout.”

“Guess we’re going in blind.” you say and let out a weary sigh. Not the best start.

“Not only blind, but also mute.” Connor grumbles and you cant your head. His LED is still yellow, and his right hand is tapping against his left upper arm. He’s turning towards you. “As you know, androids can communicate between each other and make calls. However, an interference is running in this house, preventing this communication.”

Your mouth falls open and you scan the room in the fruitless attempt to find the source of interference. However, if Connor can’t find it, chances are big you won’t either.

“Why would Cordelia Lorde do that?” you ask incredulously. Authenticity aside, it implies a source of risk for the evening. Connor doesn’t seem to have an answer, but rather puts his hands on the small of your back, gently pushing you forward.

As you approach the door, you see a man dressed up as a medieval herald, sporting dark gray tights and a feathered hat.

“Good evening, fair lady, noble lord.” he greets you, deeply inclining his head and you fight the urge to curtsy. “Who may I announce?” His questions comes out of the clear sky and you freeze. You must keep up your cover, but don’t be suspicious. What to say?

“Tinkerbell and Dracula.” you impulsively blurt out and while you cringe internally, you force yourself to stand tall, lifting your head. If you’re convinced that this is right, so will other people, you hope.

“Very well.” the herald says with a twinkle in his eyes, and he opens the door. “May I present Dracula and Tinkerbell!”

Your first reaction is thinking that you might have tumbled into a fairy tale; this ball room is made for princesses and princes, for queens and kings. Intricate swirls make every beige marble tile look like a piece of art. Countless chandeliers, lit up with real candles, dangle above you. The largest one in the middle of the round room immediately catches your eye. Made of countless crystals, it sparkles so beautifully that you can’t help but gasp in delight. The big marble pillars lining up form the basement for the second floor of the ball room. There are no stairs and no other way to access the second floor, so you suspect that it can only be reached through the private quarters. No people are to be seen upstairs, so until now, the private quarters restriction seems to be respected. Brown settees invite to take a break and relax, with champagne glasses and appetizers waiting on small vitreous tables. Classical music is played by a small orchestra in the left corner of the room and you close your eyes, listening to the beautiful tunes of a piano and a violin in perfect harmony. Moonlight falls into the room through the big, arcuated windows.

Connor clears his throat and you shake the melody’s grip on you. You have a mission after all.

“Okay, let’s mingle, talk to the people here, so we can at least try to identify them and have at least a chance to find out who’s human and who’s android. You go left, and I go right, let’s meet again in the middle okay?” you suggest and Connor nods. After being around Connor the entire time, your right side feels empty without him, but there’s no time for sentimentality.

You carefully approach the many knots of people in the ballroom, mindful not to get to close, but close enough to overhear the conversation and to get a good look at the people. Damn these masks! They may be beautiful, some so artistically crafted that you would have never dared to wear them, too afraid to break them, but they seriously hinder your investigation. So many of the masks cover more than half of the face.

After the second knot of people, where all you’ve learned was boring chit-chat, who’s dating who and what the best colors are to wear this season, you start to become frustrated and anxious at the same time. You almost run your hand through your hair but remember the pain it was to get the hairdo, so instead you just flex your fingers and take a deep breath. There’s no need to panic. The evening has just started. Maybe Connor has more luck. You continue your way through the crowd.

“It’s such a shame that Elijah Kamski didn’t come.” a black-haired woman dressed as devil, wearing a red and black jumpsuit, whispers to her neighbor, Marie-Antoinette, complete in 18th-century gown and a red line across her ivory neck. This comment piques your interest. Elijah Kamski has been invited? You haven’t heard something about the Cyberlife founder and creator of androids for quite some time. All you know is that he has disappeared from the public, living reclusively somewhere close to the city.

“I wonder why he hasn’t come.” Marie-Antoinette whispers back. You’re glad these two have only eyes for each other, because otherwise they would surely notice the way you’re blatantly eavesdropping. They don’t even notice that you almost stand in their personal space. “He just doesn’t show up anymore. Is he ill? Dying? Bored? Working on new androids?” They start discussing reasons why he didn’t come and the more unlikely they get, the less interested you become. You continue on your way.

Finally you spot a person you’re sure you recognize. Chatting with a good-looking man dressed as a knight, you see Lily Watson, who played the female lead in your favorite teenage drama. You’ve watched the show religiously and would recognize the freckled face, brown eyes and honest smile of the main actress everywhere. You’re ready to add yourself to the conversation when you notice that across the room, close to the orchestra, you see someone standing with a striking resemblance to Lily Watson, the only difference being the color of the dress and the hairdo. Your eyes narrow. What’s going on here?

You pick up a quicker pace and crane your neck, your gaze flying over the crowd. The more you focus on the people in general, the more you notice that many people here seem to have a doppelganger. Androids who are the same model all look the same, but Lily Watson is human, you’re sure of it.

You feel like a fool when it suddenly strikes you: these people must have dressed up their androids, so they look like themselves! You let out a groan as you storm towards the middle of the ball room. Connor is already waiting for you, leaning against one of the pillars, still as a statue. If people were paying attention, they would notice his inhuman motionlessness and calm. He has chosen the best position to keep an eye on the whole room. He notices your arrival immediately.

“These people here have dressed up their androids, so they look like them!” you hiss indignantly, shooting daggers at yet another celebrity you can’t recognize because of the mask and because he has a doppelganger only standing a few feet away.

“I see you’ve come to the same conclusion.” Connor replies, pushing himself off the pillar in one smooth move, his gaze shifting from the whole room towards you. A+ vampire move, you think as your cheeks warm up. The way he quickly crosses the small distance between you has something ethereal, almost hunting to it.

“I have the feeling as if Cordelia Lorde has thought of everything to make this undercover mission our personal nightmare.” you whine as you shake your head. Your hope of finding deviants is pretty much gone.

Speak of the devil, you think as all the chatter in the ballroom dies down the second a woman enters. Cordelia Lorde seems to glow. Her long, white sleeveless gown almost touches the ground. Several white gemstones shine in competition against each other, drawing patterns on the lace. Her platinum blonde hair falls around her face in soft curves, a white gold tiara crowning her head. Red lipstick is in stark contrast to the pale, even features of her heart-shaped face, her gray eyes highlighted with silver kohl. She really looks like a queen, you muse, watching her stride into the center of the ballroom.

“My dear friends.” Cordelia Lorde has that kind of melodious voice that makes people immediately listen to her. “To have each and everyone of you here warms my heart. Thank you for your presence. This evening, we celebrate harmony. We welcome those who look like us, who think like we do, regardless of the color of blood. We also celebrate secrecy and the freedom it gives us.” She’s really good, a real socialite. Although speaking to a crowd, you feel as if her words are meant for you. She knows how to capture a crowd. As you quickly glance across the room, you see everyone hanging on her lips. “Let us put our mind and our body at peace with a little dance.” She claps into her hands and the orchestra starts playing, filling the room with classical music.

You can’t help but freeze when people around you start getting into position to dance. Oh no. You can’t dance to save a life, especially not a waltz. Everyone in this room is gathered in pairs and you have to act now.

“Connor, help.” you stand on your toes to whisper into his ear, a rebellious streak of your hair brushing against his jaw. His LED blinks amber and you pray that there is a dancing module or software. Connor takes your hand and leads you into the ballroom. His left hand holds your right hand, his long fingers locked with yours, while his right hand is resting on the small of your back.

“Put your left hand on my shoulder.” Connor instructs, and you comply, putting your hand on his silky vest. Dancing implies body contact, and the waltz is no exception. The closed position you’re currently holding really is close. Your toes almost touch and you’re so close to Connor that you can count the freckles on his face. You’ve always liked his brown eyes. A hot chocolate during winter. The rich, soft ground on which you lie on a summer’s day. Your favorite teddy bear. All these fond, warm memories fill your mind while you lose yourself into his eyes.

“Don’t worry, (y/n), everything will be all right.” Connor says, his voice reassuring and you feel his fingers tighten around yours. You barely notice that you two have started moving, Connor pulling you with him. You have no experience of dancing a waltz, but still you think that he’s an exceptional lead and you’re glad that all you have to do is following him. You float across the room and from the corner of your eye, you see some people give you impressed, even envious glares.

“I never thought you’d be such a great dancer. Cyberlife really thought about everything.” you tease Connor and just for a second, he stiffens, and you lose focus, your feet no longer under your control. In an effort to keep you from falling, Connor catches you by lifting you up and twirling you. For an instant your feet no longer touch the ground and a fleeting thought crosses your mind – that’s what flying must feel like – before you’re gently put back on the ground. You cling closer to Connor, your left hand no longer on his shoulder but on the nape of his neck, your fingers touching his hair. His hand is no longer resting on the back but on your hips, steadying you. The first dance seems to have ended for there is no more music. You and Connor are locked in this tight embrace and you finally find the courage to search his face for a reaction. His stoic look is replaced by an almost content expression, an avid twinkle in his ever-fixing gaze.

Your mind is a blank space and your heart is a thundering mess. Even with the music gone, you’re not capable of any clear thoughts.