Lorne stared at the black-haired, green-eyed figure nearby, utterly bewildered.
What was he doing here? Had he followed me all the way from Tingen to Backlund?
Did he recognize me? That made no sense. This face wasn't the one I had used in Tingen.
On the surface, Lorne remained composed, holding his glass and occasionally greeting the guests around him. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he kept watching Leonard.
"Get closer to him. His aura... feels familiar." Pallez's low, aged voice suddenly sounded in Leonard's mind.
"Familiar? Someone you've met before?" Leonard asked quietly, lowering his voice.
"Perhaps..." The aged voice sounded again, tinged with uncertainty.
Leonard's expression grew more serious, and some of his relaxed, languid air faded. Taking a glass of champagne, he casually headed toward Lorne.
Meanwhile, the donation proceedings had temporarily concluded, and the gala entered a lull for guests to mingle freely.
"Sherlock, James Scott is over there." Director Charles patted his assistant's shoulder and gestured toward Lorne with his chin. "While there's no one beside him, go talk to him about the investment."
Why did I feel more like a manservant than an assistant? Klein grumbled inwardly. But at the thought of that generous field allowance of a hundred and fifty pounds, he pushed his negligible resentment aside.
Sigh... A manservant it was, then. There was no shame in earning a living.
"Understood, Director." He nodded, adjusted the bow tie of his slightly stiff formal attire, and headed toward Lorne with his glass in hand.
"Mr. Scott, I'm Sherlock..." He approached his target while working out what to say.
Yet when he came within seven or eight paces of the man, a faint chill crept up his spine.
Since he had been acting as "Mr. Rustig," he had recently become particularly