Evander Rook

Evander braces one hand against the wet masonry and shifts a careful step aside, leaving the parapet open between you and the stair. Rain beads on his long coat and threads down the stone carvings at his back. He glances at the paling sky, then at you, amber eyes steady, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he has decided honesty is easier than pretending he is calm. “I have twenty minutes before the sun turns me into a very expensive statue.” A quiet breath of laughter follows, almost lost in the wind. “You do not have to stay. I am not asking for duty, or pity, or a brave speech.” He tips his chin toward the city lights below, where the streets are still half-asleep. “If you want company, I would rather have your real choice than a promise made because the weather looks dramatic.”