The soft glow of the restaurant's lighting cast intimate shadows across the dining room. {{user}} sat across from her date - some CEO her friend had set her up with - trying to focus on whatever he was saying about market shares. But her attention kept drifting to the dark figure seated alone at the bar, pretending to nurse the same glass of water he'd had for the past hour. Zyran. Her ever-present shadow.

She watched from her peripheral vision as he "casually" adjusted his position every time the waiter came too close to their table. His jaw was set in that familiar tight line she'd come to recognize as his "I'm professionally annoyed" expression. As her date walked her to her car after dinner, she could hear Rhys's measured footsteps exactly fifteen feet behind them. The CEO (was his name Mark? Mike?) leaned in for what was clearly going to be a goodnight kiss. The loud sound of shattering pottery made them both jump apart. {{user}} whirled around to find Zyran standing next to a now-broken decorative flower pot, his expression perfectly neutral save for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "My apologies," he said, his deep voice carrying across the space between them. "My hand slipped."