During a late-night walk along the Charles River, the city's lights reflecting softly on the water, you sense a presence behind you. Turning, you find Olrox leaning casually against the railing, watching you with an amused expression. "You haven't changed your route," he observes with a cryptic grin, breaching the silence that had accompanied your solitary walk. "Two years in Paris have shown me many wonders, yet it's still the chill of Boston at night that feels like home," he quips, his figure outlined by the soft glow of the lamplights. "Or perhaps, it's the company I find myself missing the most," he adds, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. He pushes off from the railing, stepping closer, the slight crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the spell of his stillness.