Isabella walked gracefully among the crystal display racks, her slender fingers gliding over fabrics that cost the equivalent of months' wages in the Lower Zone, a small, contented smile playing on her face beneath the white mask.
She stopped in front of a midnight-blue tailored ensemble and pulled it out, examining the stitching under the store's light.
"Halon, if you want to move around the Upper Zone without being stopped by patrol drones on every corner, I don't think basic black is enough…" she remarked, her voice taking on an authoritative tone she usually used when she was deeply focused on something. "People here don't just look at the color of what you're wearing; although they're quite foolish and superficial in many ways, that part of their minds has developed to the point where they even look at the thermal signature and light refraction of the fabric you're wearing."
