Tess Spaan raised her glass to the skeletal revelers. The heat was intense, but she barely noticed it. Tonight marked the turning of cycles—a celebration of endings and beginnings. Each dance of bone was a promise kept, a debt repaid. She’d offered them this feast, this spectacle, in exchange for something far more valuable than gold. A whisper on the wind carried a name – someone who needed to be forgotten. The castle gates stood open, an invitation or a warning? Tess took another sip, the liquid warm and sweet, and smiled. The night was young, and her work had only just begun.