It had been almost half an hour, and he still hadn't seen her.

Perhaps this is for the best, he thought, while pretending to listen to one of his suppliers drone on about fan prices. If I haven't found her, it's because she hasn't caused a mass panic or unleashed a hell beast on a rude financier. It's fine, everything is fine.

"Heather," he interjected, pausing the supplier's lecture on how Cramer Industries' enhanced robots needed more fans to cool their superpowered processors. That was a lot of assumptions on her part, considering the only thing he shared with her was how many they wanted and what size they needed to be. "I'll take your recommendation into consideration, but I don't have numbers in front of me and I can't address the needs of all our projects. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She whipped out her phone, ready to schedule a time where they could look at those numbers. However, Tudor trained her dutiful staff to be overly hospitable. The moment Dominic stepped out of the conversation and toward the corner of the room where Civic stood enjoying a drink, was the moment a server glided in to offer Heather a glass of wine.

"What are the readings?" Dominic addressed the scientist in a hushed voice, angling his body so no one could read the words on his lips.

"Vitals are normal," she answered, after checking her elegant smart watch. The accessory paired well with her long, dark grey sheath dress and shimmering white vest, which cinched in at the waist and extended to the bottom hem of the dress. Even in formalwear, she looked every bit a scientist. "She is currently showing up in the parlor," continued Civic, before her employer could ask the question. "It's hard to discern on this screen, but it appears she is hugging close to the north-facing wall."

Doesn't sound like she's socializing, he thought to himself. Kind of defeats the purpose of the test.

"Thank you, Civic," he replied with a sigh. "Are you enjoying the dinner?"

"It is significantly better than being holed up in a conference room where I missed out on a mass psychological phenomenon—so yes, in comparison I'm enjoying myself." She took a sip of her champagne, her painted eyes sparkling with understated playfulness.

"Well, I hope all the psychological mayhem you've witnessed since then has made up for it."

"Not until I see a hundred people reacting to a behemoth that isn't really there."

"Sorry, that won't be happening tonight... hopefully."

"To each their own," she replied before giving him a wink and sauntering off to go speak with one of Dominic's top robotic technicians.

Taking a deep breath, Dominic set his sights on locating the quickest route to his parlor. Unfortunately, he found himself at the far end of the expansive open plan room that included his foyer, living room, dining room, and kitchen. If he moved towards the entrance of his house, he could cut through the foyer and arrive at the parlor. However, guests were still streaming in and would inevitably get caught up in welcoming enthusiastic attendees.

His other option was to make his way through the lengthy space that covered his living and dining area, skirt past the kitchen, and then go through the other entrance to the large parlor. He noted that, with this route, people would likely be distracted by the savory hors d'oeuevres that Tudor's exquisite staff was passing around to the guests. With their mouths too full of beef wellingtons and bruschetta, they wouldn't be able to call out for his attention and he could ignore them with plausible deniability.

Deciding that was the path to take, he pressed forward, his legs moving as quick as possible without actually running. For the most part, he made good time and any hints of his name were either from conversations not directed at him or were, in fact, marred by a mouth full of food. Everything was going according to plan until a single oversight disrupted his sprint. He had forgotten to take his persistent ex-girlfriend into account.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked, stepping out from behind a pack of politicians discussing the effect Dom's militarized suits might have on their dependence on Fortress.

"I..." he paused, unable to ignore the outrageous outfit Karina had splurged on for the event.

It appeared to be composed of four rectangular panels of fabric, with two panels on each side of her body. The back panels began just above her tailbone, the expanse of her back left bare. The seam ran down the middle, hugging the curve of her backside. However, the panels eventually split apart at a height that might reveal more than anyone at the party bargained for if she leaned even a fraction forward. As for the front two panels, they joined at the bottom of her hemline, which sat at about the same point as where the back panels split. The middle seam continued up until an inch or so below her navel. After that, the panels split and spread apart so that the very tops of the fabric covered the front of each breast. As a man who had spent a good deal of his twenty-nine years studying physics, Dom knew a significant amount of tape hid under those panels for them to defy gravity as they were.

"You okay?" she purred, stepping forward and lifting her smooth, white hand up to his chest, her fingers testing the strength of the knot in his tie. "You're looking a little flushed." She gripped his neck tie and gave it a tug that was just strong enough to exert her dominance, but not enough to offset his balance. She inclined her chin, her lips plump and hungry.

"Yeah, well, perhaps you've forgotten, but we have a powerful Gifted in attendance that just had her training wheels taken off and I have yet to find her." He pulled from her grip and straightened his tie, while sending his eyes beyond Karina and over the heads of the crowd.

The entrance to the parlor wasn't far and he could see into the large room from where he stood just on the edge of the kitchen. A fireplace roared at the center of a circle of couches; a hired musician played Dom's grand piano in the corner, where guests swayed to the music; and along the north facing side of the room, where a gallery of paintings filled the wall, a mass of agitated spectators congregated.

"If you can't find her, doesn't that mean I did my job?" replied Karina as she inspected her glossy red fingernails, her tone a sharp shift from what it had been when she had taken an interest in his neckwear.

"Well, I think I have found her, and I sense a growing frustration clouding some of the guests. I need to go."

He heard his ex issue a snarky retort, but he couldn't, nor cared to, make out the words. Instead, he continued his push forward into the parlor, side-stepping well-meaning guests with vain promises of speaking together later on his lips. After nearly knocking a tray of red wine from a server's grip, Dominic finally arrived at the knot of people swelling with disapproval.

"You can't be serious," scoffed a man he only had a vague recognition of, "not even Eileen Carter?"

"I admittedly have more respect for her as she was the originator of the movement."

A gasp resounded from several members of the crowd, but Dom noted some nodded with subtle agreement.

"That's absurd," piped in a woman that he knew to be the director of the Shore Gallery of Modern Art. "Horner's A Walk in Space is well documented as the first painting to explore the concept of freeing a two-dimensional medium into a three-dimensional world. It's evidenced in his angled canvases, layered glass, and..."

"You're describing dioramas with the addition of holographic glass painting, neither are new concepts."

"I did not come to this party to be infuriated by an insufferable starving artist." The gallery director threw up her hands and walked away, while Dom's throat clenched in fear.

"So," continued a smooth voice that the flustered tycoon recognized as his art dealer, Tom Simmons, "dioramas often have figures and objects in them, while the holographic world movement relies completely on two-dimensional media presented in a three-dimensional way. Do you see no value in that artistry?"

Dom took solace in the calm, collected voice of his dealer. Tom, at least, didn't seem affected by the argumentative Mir. If only he could get closer to see her expression so he could determine if she was simply fiery or already two steps away from nuclear. Despite this concern, he did everything he could to restrain himself from forcibly shoving his way through. However, depending on the reaction to Mir's next words, he might have to throw etiquette out the window.

"Of course, I see value in their art. Any expression of the soul has value. What I don't value is the commercialization of an art form that has existed, at least in terms of dioramas, since the 1800s. And that's only when the term was coined. Dioramas were around long before that."

"One could say then," added Tom, "that your qualms with defining an upgrade to an original art form as a new movement is similar to the controversy of Daguerre and Bouton's first piece in Paris. Couldn't we claim dioramas are just the evolution of miniatures?"

For a moment, all was quiet. Dominic needed to see her face, needed to see if she struggled to keep herself composed over those she likely deemed as obtuse elitists. He needed...

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she replied with intrigue teasing her words. "Hmm, I suppose if they would stop touting themselves as geniuses that created a new art form and instead marketed it as a rebranding, or an evolution as you say, then I could be more open to the movement itself."

"I suppose progress is progress," said the man who had first questioned Mir's appreciation for Eileen Carter. After a moment, he continued. "Well, it has been a lovely chat with you, Ms. Mirage. Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me to a showing one of these days so I can introduce you to the holographic world. You must admit, you can't judge something like that until you've seen it in person."

"This I will concede, Mr. Simmons, and I would love to go to a showing one of these days. Perhaps one of yours?"

The crowd dispersed as it became clear the battle of artists had finished. As they went their separate ways, Dom caught glimpses of Mir through the shifting bodies of his guests.

"I'm already counting the days," answered Simmons with a purr to his voice, a sound which caused Dom's jaw to clench and the hair on the back of his neck to rise. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I will make sure to look up your work when I get home."

Dom pushed his way forward just in time to see the older gentlemen taking Mir's hand and planting a soft kiss upon the top of it.

"Let me know what you like and maybe I'll make room for you on my commissions list."

"I think my client may be eager to join that list as well," said Tom, who cast a sideways glance at the tense man standing in Dom's shoes.

"Mr. Cramer," said Mir with a seductive coo in her voice that melted all the stiffness from his body, "you look like you could use a drink. Care to join me?"