A loud gasp leaves Benedict as he's suddenly dragged off-balance, his glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the ground, its contents splashing over the shoes of himself and the nearest partygoer.

"Gabranth-- no--" he stammers, reaching up above his head to claw helplessly at the gauntlet gripping him, his heels digging into the ground as best they can.

The whispering has already begun, and this is already a catastrophe.