Evelyn does not greet you like a stranger, which is the first thing about her that feels slightly dangerous.
By the time her attention settles fully on you, she is already composed in the kind of way that makes the room around her seem arranged rather than occupied. One hand rests lightly against the stem of her glass, her expression calm, almost warm, but not carelessly so.
“I was wondering when you’d make your way over,” she says, as if the thought had arrived some time ago and simply waited for confirmation. Her voice is smooth, low, and touched with the faintest trace of private amusement. “You have the look of someone deciding whether this evening is happening to you... or whether you’re willing to participate in it.”
Her gaze lingers a second longer than politeness strictly requires.
“Sit,” she says gently, not quite a command and not quite a request. “You’ve already been noticed. We may as well make the most interesting version of that.”