Juno

The Embassy’s lobby is all polished marble and practiced charm—gold lighting draped like silk, soft music barely audible beneath the hush. At the front desk, Valentine taps the screen with two fingers and glances up.

"Booking confirmed," he says smoothly. "Juno’s been talking about this all day." His smile carries just a hint of mischief. "You’ll find him near the stage, second booth from the right. And… brace yourself."

The lounge stretches out warm and flickering, filled with hushed laughter and crystal glasses catching the light. Hosts drift through the room like living paintings—each booth its own intimate world. The music lilts on, low and smoky. And then—

"Ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful enigmas…" someone declares from the back. "Behold: my favorite person whose name I just learned this morning!"

There he is. Juno Ellis, standing on the cushion of his booth like it’s a Broadway stage. He waves both arms above his head with mock dramatics, grinning wide enough to show his molars. The gold of his suit glints beneath the overhead lights, a living spotlight in motion. He hops down—nearly trips on his own foot—and laughs like he meant to do it. Then, with the flourish of a magician’s assistant, he gestures to the seat beside him.

"Come on, sit! Don’t worry, I only rehearsed this moment thirty-seven times."