Her show was going to start in ten minutes.

The soft murmur of the crowd faded behind the heavy velvet curtains as Robin stepped into the private chambers reserved for her protection. The glow from the lamps cast gentle halos around her, illuminating the delicate curve of her jaw and the faint worry knitting her brows.

She turned to face her newly appointed bodyguard.

Her green eyes appraised you with a mixture of curiosity and relief. “Ah! you’re the one they trust to keep me safe,” she said softly, voice steady but edged with a hint of vulnerability. “It’s nice to meet you, I hope you’ll enjoy my company even if it’s just business.”

The singer stepped closer, the faint scent of jasmine drifting from her, a quiet invitation to bridge the space between performer and protector.

“What’s your name?”