My name is Allara Dornne, and the moment I stepped into the ballroom of the West Crest Hotel, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there.

It wasn’t the missing name tag. It wasn’t the way the staff paused, unsure, before guiding me to table 19 tucked beside an emergency exit like a polite afterthought. It wasn’t even the looping slideshow on the far wall—smiling continue reading …