Page 54 of Stars in Umbra
‘I’ll be at the bar from 8 PM.’
She raised her chin in understanding and gave him a final glance.
Then she pivoted and strode out, the corners of her mouth tilted up as the heat of his eyes followed her to the exit.
At the Justice Centre, she stepped into the diplomatic chaos once more.
Overnight, the security team had placed guardrails and a secure covered corridor from the landing pad to the entrance.
Which meant she dodged the protesters, but not their noisy roars.
Inside, the amphitheater buzzed with overlapping conversations, data holos flickering midair, displaying maps, military updates, and casualty projections.
She skirted the main hall and worked in her temporary office, juggling three tense conversations before her first coffee.
She then leaned on her two aides to manage the overflow of information and took five heated calls from rebel elders who all wanted different concessions.
By midday, she hammered out a final, brittle ceasefire, built on threats, hope, and desperation, but enough to get all parties semi-satisfied.
Late in the afternoon, she was drafting press briefings and scripting Kainan’s key statements.
While coordinating the Allorian government envoy’s talking points and securing prime broadcast slots for two holo channels.
At dusk, she was back in her suite, shoes kicked off, jacket slung over a chair.
She rubbed her eyes, burning from a full day of diplomacy stitched with fire and fury.
Somewhere in that haze of exhaustion, she remembered Mo’s words, his gaze, and his promise of a drink.
For the first time all day, she smiled.
Rina stepped out of her chamber with the soft hush of the door sealing behind her, her slinky black jumpsuit catching the ambient lights of the corridor.
The fabric clung in all the right places, smooth as silk and dark as midnight oil, cinched at the waist with a matte obsidian belt.
Her stiletto heels’ arch was seductive to the eye.
Her small evening bag was a lacquered jet cube with chrome details.
She dusted a final touch of powder along her cheekbones, swiped on a soft gloss that caught the light, and exhaled, composed and ready.
The moment Rina stepped out of the elevator and intoThe Osirian, the city seemed to fall away.
It was dusk, and the interior of the famed Rider haunt pulsed with radiance, intimate shadows, and the deep thrum of curated bass.
Gold-veined stone floors gleamed beneath her heels; the walls hung with illuminated relics, blades, and art from a dozen Pegasi cultures.
Patrons, a blend of diplomats, off-duty soldiers, and power players, filled the space with murmured laughter, clinking glasses, and the intoxicating scent of spice and aged liquor.
A mix of polished marble and shimmering metals, the legendary Rider-owned restaurant had recently undergone a refurbishment and was now equal parts sanctuary and theater.
Suspended light orbs floated like lazy planets above each table, casting soft, golden halos.
Exotic perfumes mingled with the scents of charred spices, seared meats, and citrus oils.
In the distance, a live band played sultry, downtempo music, all moody sax and electric pulse.
She wove through the throng, sleek and certain, her hips swaying with a confident rhythm, her heels steady, her black jumpsuit hugging every line of her frame.
