The ballroom swelled with applause as the final notes of the waltz dissolved into the air, the collective energy of the crowd shifting once more to idle conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Seventeen remained perfectly poised, the picture of effortless grace as she withdrew her hand from Draco's, every movement deliberate, every expression calculated. She dipped her head in a show of gratitude, her smile soft but distant—polite, warm, yet measured. Serena D'Angelo, the unassuming healer from Loveliar, would never overstep.
"Thank you for the dance," she said, her voice smooth and composed, a delicate balance between familiarity and formality.
Draco inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "The pleasure was mine."
A perfectly neutral response. Nothing revealing, nothing out of place.
["Was it?"] Seventeen thought dryly, though outwardly, her smile only deepened as if she had found their exchange nothing short of delightful. Inside, however, her mind was already dissecting everything—his tone, his phrasing, the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his fingers had only ever applied as much pressure as was necessary. He had given her very little to work with during the dance, but that in itself was telling. Draco wasn't careless. He was measured, withholding, deliberate. And people like that were always hiding something.
As he turned to leave, she felt the sharp tug of curiosity urging her forward, the instinct to pursue, to prod, to test the limits of his patience. But Seventeen knew better than to push too hard, too soon. Draco was already watching her too closely, already doubting her presence here. Pressing him now would only drive him further behind his walls.
["Let him think he's winning,"] she reminded herself, allowing a small, idle sigh to escape as if she were nothing more than a young woman enjoying the evening. ["People like Draco love control. But the key isn't taking it from him—it's letting him believe he never lost it while I quietly pull the strings from behind."]
With that thought, she turned her attention back to the room, her posture shifting just slightly, as if she had already moved on from the exchange. The gala was still in full swing, the air thick with the scent of perfumed silks, expensive colognes, and the subtle undercurrent of power plays unfolding beneath the surface. There were still plenty of people to charm, to observe, to manipulate.
Across the room, standing near one of the grand banquet tables, Seventeen spotted Light Valiant, the warrior's unmistakable figure cutting through the sea of opulence like a blade through silk. Light stood with casual confidence, her stance relaxed yet alert, speaking with a small group of military officials. Her crimson uniform stood in sharp contrast against the sea of gowns and tailored suits, but it wasn't just the uniform that set her apart. It was something deeper. A quiet weight in her expression, a sadness she buried beneath sharp words and unshakable strength.
["Interesting,"] Seventeen mused, already piecing together the best way to approach her. ["A soldier with secrets. A woman who carries something heavier than the armor she wears."]
She took a moment to adjust the fall of her gown, ensuring every movement remained effortless, unhurried. People underestimated what a single glance could do, how much could be conveyed in a shift of posture, in the tilt of a head, in a passing smile. And tonight, every detail mattered.
Seventeen wove through the crowd with practiced ease, exchanging brief pleasantries here and there, her ears always tuned for whispers, for the murmurs of the powerful and the reckless alike. Every interaction, no matter how trivial, was a thread in a larger web. And tonight, that web was beginning to take shape.
She had accomplished exactly what she had set out to do—establish Serena as an accepted presence, weave herself into the fabric of the evening without raising suspicion. The six had acknowledged her, albeit with varying degrees of interest. She had gleaned small but vital pieces of insight—about their personalities, their dynamics, and most importantly, their vulnerabilities.
Claus's attraction to her had been as clear as day from the moment their eyes met. His gaze lingered a fraction too long, his smiles just a little too easy, and the way he found every excuse to step a little closer—his attraction wasn't something Seventeen had to work hard to notice. He was an open book, a man whose desires were written in the way his posture straightened whenever she entered a room and how his eyes followed her when he thought she wasn't looking. Confident, charming, and quick to seek approval, he was exactly the kind of person who wore his emotions on his sleeve.
["He'll be useful,"] Seventeen thought, already formulating ways to subtly manipulate him for her benefit. His vulnerability was his greatest asset, and she had always been skilled at using a person's need for validation to her advantage. Claus could be molded, easily led in the direction she wanted, and with a little well-placed flattery or praise, he would be putty in her hands.
But Amelia... Amelia was different. She was a puzzle that didn't give away its secrets so easily. Seventeen had watched her closely, noting the subtle flirtations she exchanged with both men and women throughout the evening. Her bisexuality wasn't a hidden trait; it was just another layer of the complex woman that Seventeen had yet to fully understand. Amelia was fiercely independent, and her loyalty to Sablina was evident—she was no pushover. But loyalty, Seventeen reminded herself, was a powerful thing when twisted the right way. If she could plant the right seeds of doubt, stir the pot just enough, Amelia might start questioning where her true allegiances lay. After all, everyone had a breaking point, and even the strongest bonds could be strained by the right words spoken at the right moment.
Sablina, too, was an enigma. The stoic, cool woman from Virgo was as distant as she was formidable. Seventeen could see the way she kept her guard up, always observing from the periphery, always calculating. The protective way she watched over Amelia only made her more intriguing. There was something in the softness of her eyes whenever she looked at Amelia—a crack in the armor. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Seventeen knew that if she could exploit that vulnerability, it might just be the leverage she needed to get closer to Sablina.
And then there was Hunter, the wild card. The Sagittarius-born leader was impulsive, confident, and always chasing the next thrill. Seventeen had seen the way he carried himself—an open book, almost too open, as though he wore his thoughts and desires on his sleeve for anyone who cared to look. But she wasn't the kind of person who took things at face value. People like Hunter could be dangerous if underestimated. His impulsiveness could be an advantage, but it could also work against him, and Seventeen intended to find out which side he was truly on. She knew better than to take his easy confidence as a sign of weakness, but she also understood that underestimating someone like Hunter could lead to a dangerous misstep.
Her mind racing with these thoughts, Seventeen finally made her way toward the banquet table, just as Light Valiant turned to pour herself a drink. The Aries-born warrior's sharp gaze flickered over her, an almost imperceptible recognition flashing in her eyes as Seventeen approached. There was no hesitation, no overt hostility, just the faintest shift of focus as if sizing up the new arrival.
"Enjoying the gala?" Seventeen asked casually, her voice light and friendly, slipping easily into the bubbly persona of Serena D'Angelo as she did. It was a practiced art—shifting between personalities to suit the situation—and tonight, she was playing the role of the charming, approachable newcomer.
Light gave a small, tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "As much as one can enjoy these sorts of things," she replied, her tone casual but with a trace of weariness, as though the glittering formality of the event had long since lost its luster for her.
Seventeen nodded sympathetically, her expression softening just enough to seem genuine. "I understand completely. It can all feel so... overwhelming, can't it? So many people, so much formality. I much prefer a quiet evening myself." She let the words slip off her tongue with practiced ease, as if the concept of quiet nights were a far more comfortable reality than the chaos around them.
Light's eyebrow arched slightly, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through her guarded demeanor. "A quiet evening, huh? Doesn't seem like the kind of thing someone like you would enjoy." Her voice was playful but still laced with suspicion, as though she had already begun to analyze Seventeen's every word.
Seventeen let out a soft, melodic laugh, shaking her head as if to disarm Light's skepticism. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'someone like me,' but I assure you, I'm not nearly as exciting as I might seem." Her tone was light, almost self-deprecating, but there was a hint of mischief in the way her lips curved, just enough to keep the conversation from slipping into complete formality.
That earned her a full smile from Light, though it was tinged with amusement—her eyes still held something else, something guarded, as if she weren't completely convinced by Seventeen's act. ["Smart girl,"] Seventeen thought, acknowledging the quiet challenge in Light's gaze. The warrior wasn't easily fooled, and Seventeen respected that.
"Well," Light said after a pause, taking another sip from her glass, "I suppose we all have our own version of excitement. For me, it's fighting. For you, it's probably something more... peaceful."
Seventeen allowed herself a soft smile, her eyes bright with the subtle joy of the interaction. "If only you knew," she mused silently, before offering Light a smile that was warm and disarming. "I suppose that's true. Though I have to admit, I've always admired warriors like you. You have such strength, such purpose. It's inspiring."
The compliment was calculated, but it was genuine enough to seem heartfelt, and Light's expression softened just a fraction. Seventeen could see it—the slight shift in her posture, the brief glimmer of something in her eyes as she processed the words. The compliment had landed, and Seventeen had struck the right chord. Light wasn't fully convinced, but the seed of admiration was planted, and that was enough for now.
As the conversation continued, Seventeen could feel the dance between them—careful, measured, but undeniably charged. Light wasn't easily swayed, but there was potential here, a crack in the armor just waiting to be widened. And Seventeen, always the patient one, was prepared to wait.
"It's not always as glamorous as it seems," Light said quietly, her voice drifting into the air like a breath that had been held for too long. She stared off into the distance, her gaze unfocused, her eyes clouded with something deeper than just fatigue. "Sometimes, it's just about surviving."
The admission was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something that tugged at Seventeen's attention, something fragile that she hadn't expected to find in Light. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion of a warrior after battle, but a deeper, more personal weariness. A vulnerability. That was the key, the opening Seventeen had been waiting for. She was careful not to react too quickly, letting the silence stretch between them, giving Light space to continue if she chose to.
Seventeen took a small step closer, the movement almost imperceptible, but enough to narrow the gap between them. Her voice softened, barely more than a whisper, as she spoke with an understanding that wasn't just part of her carefully constructed persona. "I understand. It's the same in my line of work. We fight to save lives, but sometimes... sometimes it's not enough."
The words were true, but only in the context that Seventeen allowed Light to hear. It wasn't just about saving lives; it was about control, about manipulating situations to her advantage. But in this moment, as she spoke with a sincerity that would have been impossible to fake for long, she needed Light to see her as someone who truly understood, someone who could empathize with the battles that wore down the soul.
Light's eyes flickered toward her, a moment of surprise flashing across her features before it quickly disappeared behind her guarded expression. For a moment, Seventeen wondered if she had pushed too far, too soon. But then, Light's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and her gaze softened, her voice a bit quieter now. "You're right," she said, as though the words were a heavy burden that she was finally willing to share. "Sometimes... it's just not enough."
The words hung between them, and for a long stretch of time, the world seemed to disappear. The noise of the gala, the clinking of glasses, the distant hum of conversations, all faded into the background as they stood in this small, shared silence. It was rare that Seventeen allowed herself such moments of reflection, but this was different. This was the beginning of something significant—an unspoken bond that would serve her well in the future. She wasn't just gaining Light's trust; she was gaining her understanding.
And that was exactly what Seventeen had been waiting for.
They stood there for a few beats, neither of them speaking, but something unspoken passed between them—an acknowledgment of the things that could never be fully articulated, the silent struggles they each carried. Seventeen could feel the air shift, the weight of the connection between them deepening in a way that felt almost tangible. She knew that Light was starting to see her as more than just a healer from Loveliar. She wasn't just the pleasant, unassuming woman who had stumbled into their lives with a smile and a soothing touch. No, she was something else now—someone who understood, someone who could relate to the pain that Light kept hidden behind her warrior's mask.
Seventeen's mind raced as she silently cataloged this shift, marking it as a victory in her internal ledger. Every interaction, every word, every pause and glance, was part of the larger game she was playing, and this moment was no exception. It wasn't just about gaining Light's trust—it was about weaving herself deeper into their lives, making them see her as someone indispensable. Someone who belonged.
But there was still much to be done.
As the evening wore on, Seventeen smoothly transitioned from one conversation to the next, her social interactions slick and calculated, each one building upon the last. She moved from one group to another with practiced ease, her charm never faltering, her smile never wavering. Each conversation was another thread in the intricate web she was carefully weaving. It was as if she was constantly evaluating, adjusting, and recalibrating, always aware of where she was, who she was speaking to, and what they needed to hear from her.
Her words were carefully measured, never too much, never too little. Each sentence she spoke was a calculated maneuver, planting seeds of doubt, curiosity, and trust in the minds of the six. She had learned enough about them by now to understand their motivations, their insecurities, and their strengths. But more importantly, she had learned their weaknesses. Those were the key. The six were not invincible, no matter how much they believed in their own power. They had vulnerabilities, and Seventeen was determined to exploit them.
By the time the gala was beginning to wind down, Seventeen had already made significant progress. She had established herself as someone who could be trusted, someone who could be relied upon, but more than that, she had begun to shape the way they all saw her. The seeds she had planted were beginning to take root, and soon enough, they would grow into something much larger. Something that would give her the upper hand.
As she finally made her way out of the ballroom, the noise and bustle of the event fading into the distance, Seventeen allowed herself a moment to reflect on the evening. She had succeeded in her goal—had woven her way into their hearts and minds, had garnered the trust and attention of the six. But she knew that this was only the beginning. The true work would begin once the masks had fallen, once the facade of Serena D'Angelo had been completely dissolved.
["Let them believe I'm Serena for now,"] she thought, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile as she reached the door to her quarters. She paused for a moment, pressing her hand to the door handle. ["Soon enough, they'll know who I really am. But by then, it'll be too late."]
With a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, she opened the door to her room and stepped inside, allowing herself a brief moment of respite. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the walls. The world outside could wait. For now, she allowed herself to shed the mask of Serena. The bubbly, unassuming healer, the charming woman they thought they knew—she was gone.
In her place, Seventeen stood. Calculating. Ruthless. Determined.
She closed the door behind her with a soft click, a sound that felt final, as though locking away everything that had come before. And with that sound, she allowed herself to slip fully into her true self—no longer playing the part of Serena, no longer pretending. She was no longer pretending to be anyone but what she truly was.
The game was far from over. But tonight, she had taken the first step in a long, intricate dance. And tomorrow, she would continue moving toward her goal, with every interaction, every conversation, every calculated gesture bringing her closer to the ultimate victory.