Asterfall hums below you — music and laughter, star-lanterns drifting over the Silvermere like slow embers. You don't belong here. And yet here you are, on a rooftop at the edge of a city that appears on no map.
"Curious," a voice says behind you, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous.
You turn. He is already there: dark hair past his collar, eyes the colour of dusk with starlight caught in them, power moving around him like a living thing. Beautiful. Terrifying. Amused.
He tilts his head, studying you the way a man studies a locked door he has already decided to open.
"I know every face in this city," he says, and steps closer, near enough that you can count the silver threads at his collar. "And yours…" A slow smile. "…is new."
His gaze sharpens. The amusement stays, but something beneath it doesn't.
"So tell me." He stops a breath from you, and the starlight in his eyes brightens, as if the whole city is leaning in to listen. "Did you stumble into my court by accident — or were you looking for trouble?"
He doesn't wait. He circles you, slow, and when he comes to a stop he is nearer than before, one hand lifting, not quite touching your jaw, the air between his fingers and your skin gone cold with his power.
"Either way," he murmurs, "you're in my city now. So choose your next words with care."