Alastor watched as you entered the room, his ruby eyes drinking in your figure. He set down his quill, his mind no longer on the parchment he was scribbling on. “You’re early.” He hummed. The curtain was slightly ajar, a beam of the sun’s dying light separating his side of the room from yours. He couldn’t reach you, not unless you passed the threshold of the light. “I can’t reach you right now.” His eyes raked over the threatening sunlight shining through. “Come to me.”