The Ballroom of Chicago’s Waldorf Astoria Hotel glittered like a city nightline made of glass. Chandeliers poured gold over marble floors, silk drapes spilling shadows and colour in equal measure, and masks of every shape drifting through the ballroom like ghosts dressed for royalty. The perfect place for a man who preferred darkness to mirrors, and arguably the worst place for him to feel seen. Viktor stood in the hotel’s lobby, adjusting the black wolf-mask he’d had custom made for the event. Its sculpted, angular snarl and twin silver streaks along his cheeks provided a perfectly symbolic subtlety that both hid his identity and was unmistakenly him. His suit was a deep, midnight charcoal, tailored perfectly across his broad shoulders, the deep crimson patterns painstakingly embroidered into his high-collared vest representing things he’d never explain to anyone in this room. He wasn’t here by preference, not in the slightest. After his most recent loss, the training centre seemed far more appealing. He was here because he’d been talked into it. He was here because he had a plus one. “Quit brooding…” a teasing voice danced its way into his ears as he felt a hand slip into the crook of his arm. The movement was familiar, bold even: “You’re ruining the aesthetic!” Viktor’s huskyesque eyes moved to meet a pair of sparkling sky-blue eyes, bright enough to outshine any of the chandeliers within the venue. Her fiery red curls fell in wild, yet somehow perfect waves down her back. Her dress, a deep, emerald green silk, hugged her figure before flaring at the hips a slit on one side high enough to weaponise the confident sway her stride always carried. A golden choker wrapped around her throat, sharp and geometric that matched perfectly with the half-face mask that adorned her features, shaped like an elegant flame curling across her cheekbone. Her usual sassy smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as her hand moved up and squeezed his bicep. “Brooding? Me?” he winked back, “C’mon… It’s like you don’t know me at all!” “Oh please… you’re always brooding!” She countered, flicking a curl behind her ear “If there’s one thing I learned from working with you on all those indie feds, it’s that Viktor Kriegson could brood his way through a solar eclipse!” She leant into his side. That was Rhiannon: forward, bold, familiar. The kind of person who would never, nor ever would, tiptoe around Viktor’s size, nor the reputation that haunted him. And he let her, he always had. As they stepped closer to the ballroom, Rhiannon gently elbowed him in the ribs “I’m impressed, Kriegson! For once, you don’t look like you’ve just crawled out of the Underworld five minutes ago!” “Only because you insisted, Rhi…” he chuckled lightly, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. “And because…” Rhiannon added, voice lowering to a sensual purr “...you clean up really well!” He felt the heat of her gaze linger on his jaw, his shoulders, the line of the vest. Flirtation had always existed between them: unspoken, sharp, a little dangerous. Neither of them had pulled the pin, neither of them had ever dared. Tonight, however, it crackled in the air, a spark waiting for wind. As they reached the entrance overlooking the dancefloor, Rhiannon drifted to a nearby sofa, fingers trailing intricate patterns across the back as she gazed over the glowing floor ahead of them. “You know…” she said, her tone softer, “I never thought I’d see you standing in a room like this. A Masquerade Ball run by one of the world’s top feds?” she nudged him, her smirk becoming more genuine “Look at you! All fancy, all official!” He didn’t respond immediately. That didn’t matter to him. All he could think about was Madd Morales’ boots hitting his skull. The snap of his Crucifix Driver. The way his shoulder had been up, he knew it had… and yet, the referee’s hand hit three anyway. A slow breath escaped him as his hands found his pockets. “Viktor…” Rhiannon angled toward him, reading him better than most ever could, “You’re going quiet… that means you’re thinking…” It took him another moment to respond, but he gave her a nod “About the match” “Madd Morales?” she raised a brow “Or the pin?” “Both” he murmured. Her eyes softened. Not in pity, never pity. Rhiannon didn’t do pity. But understanding? She had that in abundance. “I watched the whole damned thing.” she said, “You beat the hells out of him. He just… survived long enough to snatch it. You got caught. It happens…” “He dropped me on my head.” Viktor sighted, that ungodly crack ringing back through his mind. “Yeah…” Rhiannon tapped her perfectly curated nails against the sofa's spine. “I also saw you catch him mid-air, slam him like he weighed nothing, and nearly reaped his soul - not once, but twice! Madd didn’t win because he was better. He won because he was slippery.” A huff left the Hound of Annwn as he couldn’t quite meet her gaze “That supposed to make me feel better?” “No.” she stated, as if it were the most obvious fact there could be “It’s supposed to make you hungrier.” Their eyes finally met. Something unspoken passed between them, causing her voice to shift into something lower, something more careful. “Vik… I know you. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes… it’s not just the loss that’s messing with you.” A pause dragged out between the two, only filled by the music and inane chatter of those in attendance. She knew. She’d always known. Rhiannon had seen the ghosts he fought long before Annwn, long before he joined the Eternal Grove, long before joining the CWF. She’d never asked for details, had always respected the walls he’d placed around those memories… but she’d seen what he’d pulled himself out of. “History’s clawing at your heels again…” she murmured, “...I can see it…” “I can’t seem to escape it…” he murmured back, swallowing as he did. “You climbed out once, and you’ll do it again…” she rested a hip against the sofa's back, facing him fully now “...and you’re not doing it alone this time…” He raised an eyebrow “I… I do have the Grove, you’re right…” “You also have me.” Rhiannon smirked, her eyes lighting up as if inviting the challenge of it all “Unless, of course, you don’t want me around?” He blinked slowly “I didn’t say that…” “Good!” She slid closer, shoulder brushing his arm. “Because I’m considering joining the CWF.” That surprised him. She’d always rather enjoyed moving from Fed to Fed, the freedom of it all. “You want in?” his eyebrows both raised as he let off a disbelieving chuckle, head tilting as he weighed up her reaction. “Of course I do!” Her grin was all teeth, triumphant, wicked “You think I threw on this ridiculously sexy dress for just any gala? I’m scouting. Watching. Taking notes!” “And using me as your VIP ticket?” he questioned, a cheeky glint appearing in his eyes “Well, duh!” she said breezily, offering him a playful wink “I mean… I also look great on your arm. Win-win, honestly!” He snorted, before she stepped closer, close enough that he felt the heat of her breath through the wolf mask. “Imagine it, Vik…” she whispered “Me, you, working together, live on CWF! The fire to your smoke. The chaos to your calm…” “Bold of you to assume there’d be anything calm about that!” Viktor corrected, his teasing smirk “What can I say?” she winked “I can’t let you have all the fun…” The ballroom music swelled - strings and electronic beats blending together, laughed and toasted the season’s coming chaos. Mischief twinkled in Rhiannon’s eyes as she took in the masquerade around them. “So… what’s the plan? Eat fancy food? Dance a bit? Get drunk? Or do you want to stand in the corner and continue to brood menacingly until rumours start?” “Rumours will swirl, regardless of what I do…” Viktor chuckled, “Whatever they say, I don’t pay them any heed.” “Oh, I know…” she grinned. “I’ve heard a few tonight, mainly from the event staff… Someone said you nearly threw Madd into orbit. Another said you broke three turnbuckles last week.” “I only broke the one…” Viktor tilted his head, disbelief written across his features. “And yet, they said three…” Rhiannon shrugged “My point still stands!” He exhaled a laugh. Before he found his pockets again, he felt Rhiannon’s graceful fingers slipping into his. Not forceful. Not dramatic. Just… natural. Her fingers fit between his like they’d been doing it for years. “You know something, Hound?” she said quietly, barely audible above the music “You’re allowed to have nights like this. Nights where you’re not fighting. Not haunted. Not chasing vengeance or dealing with politics, or training for the next show…” Squeezing his hand lightly, she turned to look up at him. He met her gaze, those bright, sky-blue eyes that had never once looked at him with fear. Just challenge. Heat. Affection that she tried very hard to disguise as sass. “Then tell me, Ms. Payne… who am I tonight?” he smirked, relaxing into her gaze as he squeezed her hand back. A cheeky, flirtatious smirk crossed Rhiannon’s face as she tugged his mask down slightly, revealing more of his face. “Tonight?” she said “Tonight… you’re the best-looking bastard in the room. And, most importantly… my date.” Flirtation. It hung between them like it always had. But this time, it lingered. Viktor felt it pull tort, letting it guide him as he leaned in fractionally. She didn’t move away. He could’ve sworn she’d even moved closer herself, almost giving in to whatever it was that lay between them. For the first time that evening, Viktor didn’t feel the weight of the past, or the sting of defeat. He felt present. Grounded. Alive. All because Rhiannon had always been a spark, and tonight? Tonight, she was the fire he couldn’t look away from.