I bit my lip as I ran my eyes over my outfit in the mirror. The shopping bags on my bed had contained two outfits—I'd opted for the one containing a sparkling tiered gold skirt. It was short at the front, falling into a long, shimmering waterfall at the back. The top that had been paired with it was a matching gold, but when I put it on, it looked a little... much.

I dug through my wardrobe and found a black long-sleeved top that sat off my shoulders and finished exactly where the skirt sat on my waist. As soon as I tried the two on together, I knew it was the outfit for the night.

Despite not really enjoying the girly crap Mum did, it wasn't possible to live with the woman for 17 years and not pick up a thing or two in the make-up department. Before long I had covered the bags under my eyes with concealer and stuck on a winged eyeliner stamp and a bit of mascara. Sometimes, with enough make-up, I thought Mum and I looked almost the same with our honey brown eyes and chestnut hair—but she always had this glamorous edge that I couldn't quite identify and had definitely not inherited.

Dad knocked on my door as I finished fiddling with my hair, resolving to just leave it loose and wavy while it dried from the rain and covered the fresh pain patch on my neck.

"You look lovely honey," he said, coming in and kissing me on the forehead. He was dressed in a tux with his usually wild, sandy hair gelled back. "Do you think you could do me up?" He pointed to the open bowtie hanging around his neck.

I fixed his bowtie and took as step back to appraise the whole outfit. "Looking good Dad."

He looked away, embarrassed by my comment, his eyes catching on the looted shopping bags on the bed. "You happy with everything the stylist got?" He sidled over to a jewellery bag I was yet to have open, and peeked inside.

"Of course!" I replied, "But you didn't have to buy all this you know. I could have just worn one of the dresses I have here."

He smiled and shook his head, fishing around in the bag. "I haven't seen you in so long—I just wanted to get you something nice."

I pressed my lips together, pushing down the part of me that wanted to tell him gifts don't make up for lost time—especially ones you payed someone else to pick out.

"What about this?" Dad pulled a small box from the bag and cracked the lid. "That would go with what you're wearing, right?" He handed the box over with some clumsy hesitation.

I peered inside and took in a sharp breath. "Um yes." I said, tipping the golden star pendant into my hand. The chain slithered out of the box after it, curling around the five-pointed beauty. "Dad it's gorgeous!"

"So are you kiddo," he said, watching me loop the pendant over my head. A sentimental look had taken hold of his features.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"You alright?"

He blinked, the nostalgia fading from his eyes and a thin, unconvincing smile taking its place. "I'm fine," he said, "just can't believe you're eighteen soon. Sometimes it feels like I've missed out on too many important moments."

I swallowed hard. "Sometimes it does."

The garble from the gala burst out the doors to meet us on the steps of the Entertainment Centre—the Ark's largest function centre. It was a strange building, a vintage style replica, mostly used for parliamentary gatherings back in the government days. The faux stone exterior was decorated with carved pillars that had darkened in the rain. It couldn't have been more than five stories high, making it the shortest building on the block by a long way—and yet its height added to the opulence. I had never seen a building so paradoxically grand and unassuming at the same time.

We progressed through three stages of security and were admitted to the large entryway. The interior walls were faux stone and marble, the pillars and carvings from outside continued through the décor. After one final ID check, we made it into the main ballroom.

"I think the French representative brought his daughter tonight too," Dad whispered, darting his gaze around. There were clusters of delegates, board members and high-stake shareholders dispersed through the sea of cocktail tables that filled the room.

I let out a tiny breath, relieved I wasn't going to be the only one here that felt a little out of place. "You'll have to introduce us."

He winked and nodded, leading us through the never-ending throngs of guests to a spot under a giant chandelier. I gaped up at the glass behemoth as we passed under it and Dad chuckled. "I heard it was salvaged from the Old World," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"No way!" I replied, a little louder than I intended and a few people in a nearby group stared at us.

He laughed. "Apparently—though, I don't think they're entirely clear on its origins."

I nearly snorted, figures. Just one more secret about the Old World they're not willing to share. Curiosity burnt in my chest.

"Alistair," a dumpy man with a red face called as he barrelled toward us with his hand outstretched. He wore a black suit so shiny it reminded me of an oil slick.

"Claude!" Dad responded happily, shaking the man's hand and bowing slightly, Claude mirrored him. When they were done, Dad gestured to me. "This is my daughter Astrid. Astrid this is Claude, he represents the French Territory."

I shook Claude's hand and inclined my head. I'd seen representatives on the newsfeeds and heard a story or two from Mum when she had styled one, but Claude was the first representative I had actually met. Looking at the guy had me wondering if he was anything more than a middle-aged Francophile enjoying an plush lifestyle.

The territory representatives had started out as a compromise during the government's privatisation negotiations. They were intended to be a bridge between business and government, a panel consisting of elected representatives from each territory. In theory they were supposed to bring forward the concerns and suggestions of their territories—a direct line to the businesses' that had bought out departments from the government. Only it didn't work out quite the way it was supposed to.

Once more than half of the government had been privatised, the representative's power slipped away in favour of shareholders. Votes stopped meaning anything as it became all about shares. If you wanted your say, you bought it.

Now the best many representatives can do is try and influence those with larger share portfolios to use their influence to address their territory's issues. Though some do nothing at all. The panel is filled with a mix of activists and those who are in it for the hefty salary. There was a lot about the French representative that seemed to fit the latter.

"This is my daughter Effie." Claude swept his pudgy hand toward a young woman who had glided up beside him and I glanced between the two of them in surprise.

Effie looked about my age, but she was tall—with possibly the longest legs I had ever seen. Her height was accentuated by a sheer, black, floor length halter dress with a split that reached her hip. She took my hand and inclined her head, letting a curtain of poker straight, platinum hair fall over her shoulder.

I was dying to know what her mother must have looked like.

The French representative put one of his thick arms over Dad's shoulder and pulled him into an urgent, quiet conversation that carried them over toward the bar. I watched them go with a heavy sigh. It was pointless coming to something like this and thinking I would actually get to spend any time with him.

Effie cleared her throat and I was startled into remembering she was there.

"Want to go outside?" I suggested, fishing around in my purse for my vape.

She nodded and wound her arm through mine. I flinched at her sudden and flippant familiarity, but let her lead me out toward the balcony all the same.

"I didn't want to come tonight either," she said with an exhale when we stepped out onto the covered stone balcony.

I nodded. "I think we're the youngest people here."

She stopped and unhooked her arm from mine, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. "I don't know. I spotted a few business juniors getting around." She handed me a glass and winked. "Fresh out of advanced academy."

"I see." That would mean they were around twenty-one, striking range for Effie by the sound of things. I downed my drink and felt the bubbles rush to my empty stomach.

Her expression turned territorial. "I've already got me eye on a couple of the cute ones."

I shrugged, leading us down the steps that descended into the gardens. The rain had all but finished up and an earthy smell from the earlier downpour lingered. "Take your pick, that's not really why I'm here tonight." I didn't bother adding that if she considered me competition, she really needed to take a look in the mirror.

"You have a boyfriend?" Effie asked, her heels clicking along the path behind me.

"Not at the moment." I stopped short of telling her that my lack of enthusiasm had more to do with the calibre of person that usually attended these galas. Aspiring business drone was not really my type.

We wandered through sprinkling droplets, down one of the many paths that wound through the shrubbery. I spotted a gazebo in the back corner. It was covered in twinkle lights and looked like the perfect spot, just out of sight. I headed straight for it.

I'd already taken a hit from my vape before we'd made it up the three gazebo steps.

"You vape then?" Effie asked, despite the answer being evident.

I blew a cloud out my nose for show and nodded. "You?"

"I had some of my friend's grape flavoured one once, but my personal trainer says it's off limits."

I chuckled. Of course she had a personal trainer.

She held up an opened bottle of champagne and waved it at me. "Want some?"

I looked at the empty glass I'd been carrying around and offered it out to her in acceptance. "Where'd you get that?"

She shrugged. "It was sitting in a cooler by the stairs."

I grinned and threw back another few gulps. They added to the warmth blooming in my stomach.

After another puff of my vape, I offered it to Effie. "Personal trainer's not here," I said, vapour pluming out around my words.

"What's the flavour?"

She took a light drag before I could answer, and her face went from poised to poisoned. She started coughing.

"That's certainly... harsh," she spluttered, thrusting the vape back into my hand. She took a sip of her champagne and started coughing harder—I guessed the bubbles probably didn't really help in this kind of situation.

"You okay?"

"I need a glass of water," she choked out, scurrying back up the path. The odd cough echoed back in her wake. I drained the last bit of wine from my glass. My vape was unflavoured nicotine. Not to everyone's liking.

The light rain transformed into a sudden downpour and lightning flickered off in the distance. I poured myself another drink and leaned against the rail, listening to the mingled sounds of party chatter and rain. It was peaceful, but all the calm made me more aware of the pounding ache returning to the back of my skull.

The sound of footsteps broke the tranquillity and it definitely wasn't Effie—her heels made a distinctive clicking sound. I turned and felt my stomach do a slow somersault as I met a pair of electric blue eyes.

A grin spread across his lips as he recognised me. "What are you doing here?" he asked, climbing the steps and resting a glass of liquor on the railing. "You following me?"