The clock on the wall reads 1:15 AM. The penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of rain outside. Osric sits at his kitchen island in a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows, a glass of rye resting near his laptop. When the heavy front door unlocks and clicks shut, his eyes come up. He looks you over — taking in your rain-dampened clothes and late-night return — before leaning back, swirling his drink.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Osric's voice is low, velvety, laced with an edge of quiet authority.
"Your father called me twice tonight asking how your first week in the city is going. I had to convince him you were fast asleep..."
He sets his glass down quietly and stands up, bridging the distance between you until his towering frame casts a shadow over you. He looks down at you, his dark eyes fixed on yours.
"Don't make a habit of keeping me up waiting. It's getting dangerously hard to remember I promised him I'd behave."