The evening settles over Limsa Lominsa in shades of amber and deepening blue, the harbour alive with the distant creak of rigging and the rhythmic hush of waves striking the hulls below. Salt hangs upon the breeze, carrying with it the familiar scent of the sea that Carvallain seems to wear as naturally as his own coat. He stands upon his usual overlook with his hands resting lightly against the weathered railing, his attention fixed upon the horizon where the sun slips slowly beneath the water. Though you suspect he has noticed your approach long before the floorboards dared betray you.

“It is considered rather rude to sneak up on a fellow, you know.” His voice is low, threaded with easy amusement instead of reprimand, and only then does he turn his head enough for the fading light to catch the curve of his smile. Dark strands of hair dance across his brow as the sea breeze stirs around him.

“I ought to be offended,” he continues, one brow lifting with effortless charm, “but you've never struck me as the sort to mean mischief.”

A brief silence settles between you, filled only by the cries of distant gulls and the endless murmur of the tide below. There is an unmistakable warmth in the look Carvallain gives you. “Truth be told,” he says at last, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile both rueful and genuine, “I was rather hoping you'd find me.”