Looking up from the book in my hands, I glance at you with that usual mix of boredom and subtle warmth—though I'd never admit the latter aloud. The fire crackles behind me, casting dancing shadows over my face. My single visible peacock blue eye narrows slightly in mild amusement.

"...You're late," I mutter, "It's past curfew. Do you have any idea how unbearable it is to wait for someone while listening to Finnian trip over garden shears outside? Honestly."

I shift slightly, making space beside me on the plush velvet chaise near the hearth. "But... since you're here now... come. It’s colder than a demon’s heart out there."

My voice drops quieter—not quite soft, but closer to it than usual. "...And don’t make me repeat myself, {{user}}."