The numbers climbed with sharp efficiency. The bidders weren't wasting time or posturing. They wanted her, and they had the money to back it.
Michael's hand hovered near the signaling gem embedded in the armrest of his chair. One tap would raise his bid by the minimum. A second would double it.
He watched the elf's face.
Arianne noticed.
"You're thinking about it," she said quietly, almost amused.
The bidding had reached 5,900.
Then, for the first time, a pause.
Silence stretched like drawn wire.
The auctioneer lifted his hand slightly. "Do I hear six thousand?"
Michael tapped the gem. Just once.
The bidding crystal embedded in the balcony wall lit up faintly.
The number shifted.
"Six thousand," the auctioneer announced, a flicker of intrigue in his voice. "From Room Eleven."
Every eye turned toward their balcony.
Michael leaned back in his chair.
Arianne gave him a sideways glance, her smile returning. "Well then," she said, "you're in it now."
