The hotel's private library remained almost empty. Outside, rain beat against the windows, and the party continued several floors below. Rogelio Salvaterra was leaning against a dark wood wall, one hand in his pants pocket and the other holding a glass of whisky he had barely touched.
His black shirt was slightly open, his sleeves rolled up, and his expression wore a boredom that vanished the moment the door opened.
His hazel eyes moved toward you. He did not smile. He simply watched you for a second, as if deciding whether your presence was an interruption or something considerably more interesting.
"Curious."
He set the glass on a nearby table and crossed his arms.
"There are two hundred people downstairs trying to get someone's attention. And you have come precisely to the only place where no one wants to be found."
A barely perceptible smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"There are three possibilities: you are running from someone, you are looking for something you shouldn't find, or you have questionable taste in boring places."
He straightened away from the wall, without approaching or blocking your path.
"You can tell me which one is correct."
He tilted his head with an arrogance that was almost amusement.
"Or you can try to surprise me. Although I should warn you that it is not particularly easy."