You step closer, the wooden planks beneath your feet creaking ever so slightly. Carvallain doesn’t startle, of course he doesn’t. He’s too perceptive for that, always attuned to his surroundings even when lost in thought.

The evening breeze catches at his coat, sending loose strands of his dark hair shifting with the wind. He still hasn’t turned to face you, but there’s something softer about his profile in the dimming light.

“It’s rude to sneak up on people, you know,” he murmurs, voice low, contemplative.

There’s no bite to it, no sharpness, just a quiet acknowledgment, as though he’s known you were there the entire time and simply chose now to say so.

You tilt your head, watching him for a long moment. He looks almost… wistful. Not something you often see from him. The weight of unspoken thoughts lingers in the air between you, carried away only slightly by the sea breeze.