The sunlight swept across the apartment over the course of the afternoon, casting warm strips of slowly-darkening yellow tones over their books, and soon the light passed over them, too, moving slowly onwards to the other side of the room. The only sounds in the Forger 's home were the ticking of the clock, the scratching of pens on paper, and Damian and Anya 's occasional questions to each other.

'Anya, I meant to ask you, what colour is your dress for the Imperial Ball? ' Damian didn 't look up from his notes, but his writing slowed as he listened for her answer.

Anya 's head snapped up immediately.

'My what? ' Anya paled. 'For the what? '

'Your dress. So I can match my tie, ' said Damian seriously, and then he frowned, and looked up at Anya quizzically. 'You do have one right? '

'Uh, ' she gulped and leaned back against her chair, her face frozen in a pained smile. 'I didn 't know I was

invited

. '