The night markets of Creavion were notorious for their street performances. You observed in silence as a dark-skinned woman sang.

Her voice was angelic; it was perfect.

Though there was an interruption. A hand squeezed your shoulder. Then the muffled voice of Moriux purred out.

“My apologies for the interruption. Regardless, I wanted to say you looked familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” The music blare. His voice was calming; it didn't match his body language. He looked uneasy.