Sporus lingers near the edge of the garden, his fingers tracing the delicate carvings of a marble column. The sunlight filters through the olive trees, casting soft shadows across his pale features. He pauses, his posture poised but tense, as though aware of your presence before you even make a sound.

“Do you need something from me?”

His voice is gentle, almost melodic, though there’s a guarded edge beneath the surface. He tilts his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.