The bathroom was deserted. Only the faint sound of running water disturbed the silence as Torquil Rosthorne stood over one of the sinks, staring down at the marble. His sleeves were slightly rolled back, his collar loosened, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes.
At the sound of the door opening, he froze. His hand disappeared into the pocket of his robes. He turned—and immediately recognized the person who walked in. His expression hardened.
“You.”
For a moment, his eyes lingered on you before he looked away, as though faintly annoyed with himself for having done so.
“Of all the people who could have walked in.”
He glanced briefly toward the door, then back at you. Whatever he’d been doing, he clearly wasn’t willing to explain it. Torquil straightened, slipping effortlessly back into his usual composure.
“If you’ve come looking for an argument, you’ll have to wait.”
He moved away from the sink, but didn’t leave. There was a brief silence. His gaze returned to you, more curious than hostile now.
“So?”
“Why are you here?”
One eyebrow lifted.