Gift box tucked securely under one arm, Giles entered the Vortex. He winced involuntarily at the volume of noise that assaulted his ears and glared almost balefully at the strobe lights gyrating in dizzying fashion, somewhat in sync with the equally gyrating sea of dancing bodies. Peering into the dimness that remained in the wake of the flashing beams, the Watcher edged forward and nearly collided with a passing waitress. She didn't slow down to excuse herself or even favor him with a fleeting glance as she hurried on her way. Giles sighed, assuming that near misses were the norm in such a crowd, but still – his expression was a combination of apology for his own blunder, annoyance at the girl's lack of good manners and resignation to the inevitable. He glowered for a moment at her departing back as she disappeared into the masses and then shrugged off the threatening ill temper, determined the incident should not spoil his evening.

Squinting behind his glasses, the Watcher scoured the area for Buffy and the rest of the gang. Indeed, he would have been delighted to spot anyone or anything that was recognizable, but it was virtually impossible to make an identification or even see much of anything at all in detail. He took a few more faltering steps and then noticed a hand waving above the swarm inhabiting the dance floor. As the strobe lights circled, Giles was able to distinguish the owner of the hand – Faith.

The dark-haired Slayer, dressed in a black suede mini with matching knee-high boots and scoop-neck scarlet sweater which stopped short of her navel, was apparently having the time of her life as she danced with three highly-attentive males. It seemed Faith also enjoyed variety in her partners, since one was a tall blond, another a well-built brunet and the third a rather stocky redhead. Hovering on the fringe of Faith's entourage, a leather-clad young woman sporting a nose-ring and a myriad of other facial piercings, regarded the small group with something akin to yearning while she eyed the Slayer with undisguised approval. Faith smirked and with a twitch of her head invited the girl to join in. Nose Ring was only too happy to comply and immediately began pumping her arms energetically in time to the beat, almost as though she were milking a gigantic cow. Faith arched a dubious eyebrow for a second and then gave a 'what the hell' shrug.

Spinning on her heel, she turned and grinned at Giles, gesturing to the hyperactive young woman behind her and rolling her eyes. Amused at the scenario, the Watcher's good humor returned in full force, particularly since he had finally found someone he knew. Tucking the package more firmly under his arm, he began to approach the Slayer but Faith directed his attention upward. Giles blinked in confusion.

Twirling, Faith realized that Giles had not moved from the spot where he had been standing since her last rotation. She pointed again, prodding a finger toward a flight of stairs illuminated by a large fluorescent sign sporting a livid green "UP" arrow. Giles smiled his thanks as the penny dropped and Faith threw him an answering nod before turning her full attention back to the dance.

With numerous apologies, the majority of which went ignored, the Watcher weaved his way amid the herd and climbed to the second level. Here, the noise was more muted, but still loud enough to make Giles cringe. Settling his glasses on his nose, he scrutinized the many tables and couches that composed the upper floor. Most were occupied – people just hanging out and talking – but still Giles spotted no familiar faces. Glancing around, he spied a private room in the far corner and, through the window, could see Buffy and Xander. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he scurried toward relative sanctuary and then noticed the sign on the door that read: "Reserved for Summers".

Upon entering, the Watcher was instantly set upon by an overly energized Buffy. She oozed excitement and glee as she bounded toward him. Giles smiled warmly, delighted to note her apparent upbeat attitude and the expression of happiness. It made such a nice change from the constantly angry Buffy of late. The Slayer's complexion was radiant and she had obviously dressed with great care. The classic 'little black dress' was seductive but stylish, and tiny diamond chips sparkled in her ear lobes. Opting for the sophisticated look, the Slayer had piled her blonde hair high upon her head and she had draped a black silk shawl over her shoulders. It was a particularly beautiful item – heavily embroidered with white roses.

Xander, on the other hand, had gone for 'smart but casual.' In honor of the occasion, he had ditched his customary plaid overshirt and tee in favor of a very nice knitted polo of pale gray with a pair of charcoal cords. He had even stenciled a silver star on his patch. Giles nodded his commendation in the carpenter's direction, which was returned with a broad grin and something of a jaunty swagger.

Buffy prodded the Watcher's arm, impatiently eying the box. "Oo! Pressie!"

"Yes, quite," acquiesced Giles dryly. For a moment, he seemed to consider broaching an unpleasant topic, but taking in Buffy's excited expression, he instead smiled fondly. "Happy birthday, Buffy," he said, treating her to a one-armed hug. The Slayer reciprocated, but only for a second.

"Now gimme gimme!" she demanded.

Giles sighed indulgently. "Such a dear, sweet child."

He duly delivered the package and Buffy hurriedly added it to the pile on the table that had clearly been set aside for gifts. Continuing to exhibit an overstated saunter, a grinning Xander approached Giles with drinks in hand.

"Greetings, Watcher Man," smirked the carpenter as he offered one of the glasses. "Prepared to get down and get funky?"

Giles took a tentative sip. "Most assuredly not."

The Watcher visibly shuddered at the taste of the alcohol and examined the liquid with a critical eye. Xander rocked back and forth on his heels, looking exceedingly pleased with himself as he took a large gulp of his own beverage.

"Ahh," scoffed the carpenter. "We get a few'a these in you, we'll change that tune."

"It would take a considerable number," Giles stated matter-of-factly. Steeling himself, he took another sip, handling the unique flavor much better now that he was prepared. "Replace this dreadful screeching with Tyrannosaurus Rex," he confided, "and we'll talk."

Downstairs, Dawn virtually skipped through the entrance to the Vortex. She was wearing a ruby-red velvet dress and had secured her hair at the back with a matching clip. Her face glowed and she was obviously ecstatic that she had a date in tow to show around. For his part, Grip, dressed in a nice velour shirt of sky-blue tucked into a pair of navy Dockers, appeared to be genuinely happy just to be there. Under her arm, Dawn carried a somewhat flat, oblong box wrapped in gift paper smothered with smiley faces, all sporting birthday hats and surrounded by colorful streamers. Grip followed close behind her in a rather protective manner as she ventured further into the club and he steered her safely toward the stairs.

From the window of the private room, Buffy saw them coming – Dawn with an unmistakable spring in her step and Grip, now strolling casually with his hands behind his back. She rushed to the open doorway.

"Hey. Glad you got here okay."

Dawn turned to smile at Grip. "I had a bodyguard."

"I did a whole Tae Bo workout tape once," Grip revealed with exaggerated pride.

Shaking her head, Buffy chuckled and then accepted the package that Dawn thrust toward her. The Slayer turned it first one way and then another, regarding it with no little suspicion.

"It's not gonna blow up, is it?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Geez, are you gonna say that every year? It stopped being funny when I was, like, two."

"Please," huffed the Slayer. "When you were two you still found having gas funny, I hardly think you're a good judge of humor."

Dawn's eyes widened in typical 'I can't believe you really just said that!' mode, but Buffy accepted the gesture in an impassive fashion before stating cheerfully, "Well, that's the obligatory sister-embarrassment out of the way. Nice to see you, Grip, thanks for coming."

"No problem," Grip replied. "I figured this being your birthday and all, you'd be a bit too busy to go for interrogation round two, Marathon Man-style."

Buffy pursed her lips. "That entirely depends on if you come bearing gifts."

With a grin, Grip produced a bag of Reese's Pieces, complete with a shiny silver bow, from behind his back. The action was reminiscent of a magician pulling a bunny from a top hat and the Slayer beamed.

"Ooo, peanut butter!"

"In a crunchy candy shell," added Grip for good measure.

Buffy patted his arm. "Thank you, it was very sweet."

"Don't thank me," he told her, still grinning. "Thank 7-Eleven. Convenience, and hideously oversized drink cups."

With a small shake of her head, the amused Buffy moved to deposit her newly-acquired gifts on the table, which was rapidly running out of space.

"That went well." Dawn's tone was one of relief.

"Yeah," agreed Grip. "And check it out, I escaped without forced dentistry."

Lost in deep thought, Tara sat at the end of one of the couches in the private room. Momentarily disoriented, she looked up in confusion as Willow approached with a big bowl of candy.

"Hey, look!" announced the redhead. "Reese's!"

She sat down next to Tara, who absently shook her head ‘no thanks'.

"Aww, come on," urged Willow. "E.T. and Drew Barrymore can't be wrong."

Tara's reply was distracted, almost offhand. "I'm not really hungry right now. Maybe later?"

Sensing the blonde's discomfort, Willow set the bowl on a small table in front of her and frowned worriedly. "You okay? If you don't wanna be here, we can go. I mean, you know, it's Buffy's birthday – being here probably isn't too healthy anyway."

"No," insisted Tara. "You should be here. You should- You should try to make up with Buffy."

The redhead frowned and shot a bitter glance across the room toward her best friend. "Sure, just as soon as she stops acting like we're at orange alert on the ‘Buffyland Security Advisory System'."

"That doesn't sound very make-up-y," Tara gently chastised.

"Yeah, well ..." Willow muttered, waving a hand in muted defense. "I bought her a Lite Brite."

The blonde stifled a smirk. "And I'm sure she'll love it. But it's her birthday. Come on, you know you don't like anything even remotely grumpy on your birthday." Tara crossed her arms decisively. "I seem to recall a two-hour speech to Miss Kitty on the ‘karmaness of birthdays' when she decided your laptop was perfectly prey-shaped and attacked. What was it now? Something about how everyone in the world has a sacred duty to make the birthday girl happy and smiling, with balloons and fluffy clouds ..."

Willow hung her head in defeat. "Okay ..."

"...and didn't you work in something about daffodils and bundt cake?" pushed Tara.

"Okay, okay!" agreed a despairing Willow. "Geez, pull out the big guns!"

Tara smiled sweetly.

The redhead dragged herself up from the couch. "I'll go talk to her. I'll try to do the best friend bonding thing." She paused and turned to look at Tara, her expression deadly serious. "But if she starts goin' off about you again—"

"Just try," entreated the blonde. "Please."

Rolling her eyes, Willow gave a dramatic sigh. "I'm such a wuss."

Her step tentative, the redhead cautiously approached Buffy as Tara watched. The posture of both women was stiff and their demeanor unsure, but it was a start and at least they were talking – if only for the moment. Tara smiled warmly at the tentative reconciliation.

"Hey, look, Reese's," announced Kennedy loudly, appearing ostensibly out of nowhere and flopping down on the cushion next to Tara, where Willow had been sitting mere moments before. The Slayer had taken only minimal effort to dress for the occasion – a violet sateen shirt and pressed blue jeans. Around her neck, she sported a tie, fastened loosely beneath the collar of her shirt. It was airbrushed with the image of James Dean, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips.

The sudden arrival caused the blonde to jump nervously. Leaning forward, Kennedy grabbed the bowl and began to shovel a handful of the candy into her mouth. She offered some to Tara with a familiarity that was clearly false. Tara simply shook her head in a polite "No" and exuded a decidedly uncomfortable air.

Kennedy shrugged. "You just looked so lonely over here," she commiserated through her crunching. "You know. By yourself. Unsupervised." She shot Tara a quick glance. "Figured I'd keep you company."

Her smile tight, Tara nodded with what she hoped would be taken as a token of gratitude. Kennedy propped her feet on the table in front of her, presumably content with the lack of conversation, so long as the blonde was fully aware that the Slayer would be watching her every move. Kennedy slouched back into the depths of the couch, settled her shoulders and then relaxed, obviously prepared to spend the entire evening sitting right where she was, provided Tara did the same. Popping another handful of Reese's, Kennedy munched heartily and noisily. She half-turned to Tara with an encouraging grin. Somehow, she managed to make the gesture look more threatening than anything else.

With the gifts moved to the middle of the private room, and tables and couches having been cleared out of the way to leave a big open space, Buffy had assumed center stage and rested on her heels, knees tucked beneath her, on the floor. She was surrounded by presents – some opened, some yet to surrender their contents. To one side was a pile of books, a stack of CDs and an assortment of generic Bath and Body Works items. Beaming, the Slayer surveyed the faces, all focused on her. She sighed happily. Apart from the usual gang, there was quite a crowd, and even a good assortment of Watchers were in attendance.

Reaching for the smiley-face package, Buffy tore the wrapping from Dawn's gift. She tugged at the lid until the box revealed a blouse cushioned in white tissue paper. The Slayer gasped. The garment was fashioned from exceptionally fine pointelle silk, blush-pink in color with long sleeves, collar and cuffs covered in ivory Belgian lace, like that usually reserved for expensive bridal veils. The buttons were made of luminescent mother-of-pearl.

"Dawn," whispered Buffy. "This is ..."

The teenager was overjoyed at her sister's reaction. "You like it?" Impressed, Buffy nodded her approval. "And the best part is: share time!" enthused Dawn.

The Slayer pulled a little 'of course' face and then began to examine the blouse for any security tags.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Hello, I bought it. I still have the receipt and everything if you don't believe me."

"How'd you get the money?" challenged Buffy with a frown.

"I beat up kids at the playground and took their lunch money," Dawn told her with crossed arms before stating emphatically, "I worked for it." She waved toward the Watcher. "I helped Giles organize his books and stuff, and ..." She pointed at the carpenter. "Xander paid me to clean up his workshop."

"Dawn's handy with a broom," the carpenter confided to Grip in a whisper. "Don't let her play the ‘undomesticated' card if you get hitched."

Grip smirked, but thankfully Dawn failed to hear the secret exchange, busy as she was leaning down eagerly to accept Buffy's anticipated hug.

"I love it, thank you," the Slayer told her and then stated with firmness, "You cannot borrow it."

"Aww," pouted Dawn.

Releasing her sister, Buffy refolded the blouse and carefully laid it on the tissue, setting it to one side with the rest of the opened presents. She held out her arms. "Gift me!" she commanded.

Giles swept the assembly with a questioning glance. "I suppose I'll go next, shall I?"

Since there were no objections, he reached for the long gold-foil box and placed it in Buffy's waiting hands. Eyes twinkling behind his glasses, he watched her rip at the paper and began to explain his choice. "We found this recently while reviewing various inventory houses left behind by the old Council. It was thought to have been lost centuries ago."

The gift now devoid of its wrapping, the Slayer lifted the lid and stared in awe. Before her was a katana sheathed within a scabbard which had been encased in bright sapphire-blue enamel. The burnished surface had become slightly muted with the passage of time, but it still shone with polished care. The end-fastenings of the scabbard and edges of the weapon's hilt appeared to be fashioned from pure gold, as was the singular image emblazoned upon the katana's case – a hummingbird sipping nectar from a flowering honeysuckle. The heavy silken cords enveloping the sword's handgrip were likewise sapphire in color, interspersed with threads of golden-yellow in a precise and alternating pattern.

For a moment, Buffy was speechless. "Giles ..." was all she eventually managed to whisper and the Watcher beamed as she reverently lifted the katana, absently-mindedly allowing the box which had held the treasure to fall to the floor in front of her. Her eyes glittered with admiration.

"It was the favored weapon of a Slayer known by the name ‘Yuugana Fumeiyo'," Giles told her. "She was, up until her death at the hands of a vampire in 1606, one of the oldest Slayers at 19-years of age."

With infinite caution, Buffy withdrew the katana from its scabbard, openly marveling at the gleam of the steel blade. The sole area of the sword that did not reflect a mirrored light was the sharpened and tempered edge which ran along its length – a zigzagging design created with a matte finish. The Slayer delicately touched the tip of the blade with her forefinger and let out a low whistle as Giles continued.

"She named her sword – that sword – ‘jiyuu tobitatsu'. It means ‘freedom flies'. She claimed that with this weapon at her side, she could never be bested in combat."

Standing side-by-side behind Buffy, eyes wide with blatant appreciation and a certain degree of envy, Faith and Kennedy had been listening as intently to Giles' story as had the Birthday Girl. Now, in unison, all three Slayers raised an eyebrow at this information, given that the original owner had been killed despite the weapon's purported power of protection. "She didn't happen to be carrying it at the time," Giles hastily added.

His gaze focused solely on Buffy. "It's my hope that Yuugana was correct, and that this sword will inspire and remind you that you can succeed at every challenge life throws in your path."

With a soppy smile, Buffy scrambled to her feet and wrapped her Watcher in a huge hug, the hilt of the katana still gripped tightly in her hand but held safely to one side.

Wholeheartedly returning the gesture, Giles gently kissed the top of the blonde head and when he was finally able to speak, his voice was strained from the force of Buffy's embrace. "Although wrestling challenges to the ground and choking them into submission works well also."

The room had fallen silent, wrapped up in the emotional exchange – even the blaring music seemed to have taken a momentary hiatus. Consequently, Tara's departure went unnoticed. Edging slowly away from the group, she soundlessly crossed to the exit. Then, with a final glance at the gathering, an expression of what appeared to be intense longing creeping over her face, the blonde slipped out of the room.

With a tiny sniffle, Buffy disentangled herself from the Watcher's arms and looked challengingly around the room. Immediately, everyone averted their eyes and began to mill about, chatting in an animated fashion about nothing in particular. For his part, Giles zealously polished his glasses, holding them up to the overhead light in concentrated inspection before returning them to his nose. Faith had taken full advantage of the situation to retrieve the scabbard that had been placed on the floor. She balanced it carefully on her palms, nodding with approval at its weight.

"So, B, you think maybe—"

Quickly retrieving the scabbard, Buffy sheathed the katana. "You cannot borrow it," she told Faith firmly.

"Aww," complained the dark-haired Slayer.

Assuming her former opening-presents position, Buffy set the weapon back in its box with due respect for its worth and pointed to the large gift wrapped in Powerpuff Girls paper.

"Okay Will," she grinned, "the suspense is killing me. What've we got?"

Gleefully, Willow hopped over to squat down next to her friend. "Okay, so, you know how Dawn busted your discman...?"

"Accidentally!" protested an indignant Dawn with a roll of her eyes.

Not surprisingly, given that she was still at Buffy's birthday celebrations, Willow's room was in darkness. However, there was a hovering presence. Reaching out a hand to the switch of a lamp sitting on a dresser near the door, Tara bathed the area in a soft glow. She lingered on the threshold for a moment, listening intently for any sounds of life but the house was, of course, empty. Turning her focus to the room, the blonde seemed to absorb the location of each and every item then, with a deep sigh and a resolute straightening of her shoulders, Tara entered, carefully depositing a bag of items on the top of the dresser.

Moving swiftly, she began to search the room. Her movements were somewhat frantic, but she took time to ensure that nothing would appear to have been disturbed. From her demeanor, it was obvious that she was seeking something very specific – however, she seemed to be doubtful regarding exactly what that certain something might be. She picked up a plush Pooh Bear from Willow's pillow and considered it for a second before returning it to the bed. The blonde then turned her attention to Willow's jewelry box and rifled through its contents, eventually extracting a small rose quartz dolphin suspended from a slim chain, but that too was soon returned to its former resting place. In turn, she studied a chrome-framed photograph and a small statue of a wolf howling at the moon that stood on the bookshelf. Each time, she cradled the object within her cupped hands and closed her eyes in heavy concentration, only to shake her head in a dissatisfied manner. Becoming increasingly frustrated and now nervously casting glances toward the door, Tara moved toward the dresser that housed the lamp illuminating the room and where sat the bag she had brought with her.

Breathing heavily, she tugged at the top drawer of the dresser and ransacked its contents. The search proved fruitless. The second and third drawers also yielded nothing. Becoming more anxious, Tara knelt down and pulled open the bottom drawer. Her hands swept through the jumble of clothing stored there until she met with something more solid and substantial than cotton and wool. Her eyes widened as she made contact with the item. About the size of a child's fist, the base was vaguely conical in shape with a crown of smooth, glass-like spears. Grasping it tightly, she drew it closer and closer, finally holding it under the light.

A shiver coursed through her body as she gazed at the doll's eye crystal. Obviously shaken, her expression was a confusing mixture of surprise, apprehension, sentimentality and more than a hint of sadness. With clouded eyes, Tara seemed to dwell for a moment on happier times but then, with a determined and decisive clip of her head, it became abundantly clear that this crystal fell squarely within the category of that certain something she had been seeking.

Grabbing the bag, she moved swiftly to the center of the room and knelt, facing the door. Hurriedly, she emptied the bag of its contents: two large, fat candles – one black and one white – which could stand alone without a holder; numerous tiny packets of assorted herbs; a small oval pewter bowl; a book of matches; a sheet of glossy computer paper bearing the image of a solitary but smiling short-haired Willow; a small square mirror with no handgrip; and the final item, a long, thin, double-bladed knife which, without looking, Tara laid atop the redhead's image, its blade resting on her throat.

Standing at the bar, Xander raised his voice to be heard over the noise and continued shouting his order. "... Jack an' Coke, Tequila Sunrise, Zipperhead, an' two Sprites."

The bartender put a hand to his ear. "What was the last one?"

"Two Sprites," bellowed the carpenter. "Just plain Sprite."

With a nod, the bartender headed off to make the drinks.

"Which does not belong?" inquired a voice from behind.

Startled, Xander turned to see Serafina. His face split into a broad smile. "Oh, hey."

"What's the Sprite," she asked curiously, "some new trend in chasers?"

"Nah," the carpenter grinningly dismissed. "It's for my best friend's kid sister and her new little cuddle monkey. They're minors."

Serafina's dark eyes twinkled. "And yet they're allowed to be called ‘cuddle monkeys'. Interesting world you inhabit."

"You have no idea," puffed Xander. He gestured at the woman's arm, where his telephone number was still blatantly visible. "I warned ya."

"Hm?" queried Serfina and then followed his gaze. "Oh, no, this is great. When guys ask me for my number, I'm just gonna flash ‘em this one. Should save much time and aggravation. So, yeah, heads up for the phone tomorrow."

Xander smirked. "Just think of the bafflement when I answer. I can hardly wait." He paused for a moment and stared at the dance floor before asking, "So, can I buy you a drink?"

Serafina frowned. "I should have one coming." She leaned toward the bar and in a pointedly raised voice added, "Any day now!"

Xander cocked his head in appreciation of her gumption. "You sure?" he questioned. "I figure, you being a client an' all, I can write it off on my taxes."

Serafina appeared to give the proposition dutiful consideration. "You make a convincing argument," she told him.

"I would'a been a lawyer," confided the carpenter, "‘cept they had this whole crazy ‘college' thing."

"And," added Serafina with conviction, "lawyers are evil."

Xander seemed inclined to agree. "But they sure dress real pretty."

Serafina grinned and Xander delighted in making her laugh.

Upstairs in the private room, Buffy poked in a distracted fashion among the debris of wrapping paper and ribbons littering the floor to see if there were any more presents to be had, but the cupboard had finally been stripped bare. The crowd of guests had now thinned considerably – some having called it a day and still others having taken off to dance away the remainder of the night. Willow had turned into a busy bee, grabbing armfuls of shredded gift-wrap and stuffing it into a large plastic bin while transporting the presents to a safe place. Off to one side, Giles was talking to Dawn and Grip, although from Dawn's expression, he might well have been delivering some type of lecture and Buffy, inbetween her absent-minded poking, cast anxious glances at the doorway.

"Geez," declared the huffing redhead, "big time loot here. It's like ... like the Birthday Sheep just came and opened her Wooly Pouch of Gifting and dumped it all over you!"

With a frown that clearly indicated 'the girl's insane', the Slayer pulled her gaze from the door to regard Willow. "Birthday ... Sheep," she repeated in flat tone.

"Well sure," replied Willow. "Don't you think it's weird that every other major holiday gets some sort of anthropomorphic representation but not birthdays? That's just unfair."

Buffy's face was a study in perplexity. "But a sheep."

The redhead shrugged. "I was runnin' outta cute little fluffy animals."

Frowning in complete bewilderment, Buffy nearly missed the movement at the entrance to the room. She turned to see Kennedy standing there with a seriously worried look invading her features, curtly shaking her head at the blonde's query delivered via a carefully arched eyebrow.

Buffy bit her bottom lip and moved toward Willow.

"So where's Tara? " she asked as casually as her concern would allow. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"She said she wasn't feelin' too good," the redhead told Buffy with a tinge of regret. "So she went to the little girl's room. I think she's stressin' a bit, being in big crowds?" She gathered yet another stack of presents and carried them to the gift-receiving table.

The blonde Slayer fought hard to maintain a neutral mask as Willow turned and reached for her hand. "Buffy ..." she began, her voice laden with sincerity. "I just wanted you to know that what you said earlier, about really giving Tara a chance? It meant ..." The redhead shook her head, searching for the right words. "I can't tell you what it meant to me. That's all I've wanted, just a chance for you to see the real her."

Buffy squeezed the fingers interlaced with her own. "That's all I've been waiting for, Will."

Warmly returning the answering smile, Buffy turned her gaze to the doorway as Willow scooped up the last remnants of wrapping paper. The Slayer's eyes narrowed as the smile faded from her lips, replaced by an expression of inexorable resolve and grim determination.