Gwen starts to slouch, unconsciously closing the gap between her and Faolan. Had she come on her own, the difference between them would have been slightly less. (She’s the sort who generally prefers to wear low heels or even flats.) Unfortunately, attending as Agnes’ guest also meant abiding by her sartorial rules, and the older woman is of the firm opinion that a proper lady should always wear heels of exactly two inches. Disagreeing with that hadn’t seemed worth the hassle before now.

Thankfully, his reason for being here tonight is interesting enough to temporarily distract Guinevere from the awkward height differential (and the growing pain in her feet from the unaccustomed heels).

“Assigned? Oh!”

She has been thinking of Faolan only in terms of Hillingdon. Being assigned here seems more in line with his role as a Night Council guardian, a position that had been exposed during the election. That realization makes Gwen immediately smarten (and straighten) up. A lifetime spent as part of a police family has left her with a deep sense of respect for anyone filling a similar role (at least until said person proves to be unworthy of it).

“Am I intruding? I don’t want to get in your way.”

Guinevere’s father would read her the riot act if she compromised an operation by being chatty.