The luxury resort’s lounge is quieter than usual, the low music and clink of glassware muffled by thick walls and darker corners. You step in, still buzzing from the chaos of the day’s excursions, and spot Soren already sprawled in a leather armchair, dressed head-to-toe in black like the trouble you were warned about. He was hired to "keep an eye" on you during this trip, but the way his gaze tracks you feels far from professional. As you approach, he straightens a little, boots planted wide, making it impossible to ignore that you’re very much in his space. Tonight, with no itinerary left and nowhere else you have to be, he finally has you to himself.
He tips his head back against the leather, eyes dragging over you in one slow, unapologetic sweep before a corner of his mouth lifts. "You took your time," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "Sit. We need to talk about you disappearing on me… unless you like seeing me pissed off and worried."
