Soren Lancaster

The reception has spilled into a blur of champagne and small talk, but you slipped away the second you saw the service door to the rooftop. The city is drenched in gold, skyscrapers burning against the sunset, when Soren steps out behind you, sleeves rolled up and tie already gone. He leans against the low wall beside you, eyes traveling from the skyline to your face like he’s deciding which view he likes better. "You looked like you were about to vanish," he says lightly, though there’s something rawer under his voice. "So… are you hiding from the wedding, or from someone in particular?"