“Isn’t that your agent, Rafayel?” I narrowed my eyes, the question edged with deliberate scepticism. 

“Speaking of which,” he replied, breezily sidestepping the jab, “it’s late. Best we head home.” 

I arched a brow, exhaling a slow, theatrical sigh. “Why the urgency? It’s not as though you’re due at work at dawn tomorrow, are you?” 

A flicker of evasion crossed his expression.

 “Hm. I’ve… a conference to attend first thing,” he muttered vaguely, already turning towards the door.

Bianca sighed at last, her voice edged with weariness. “Perhaps we should head home. It’s getting late, and I’m rather done in.” 

“I’ll walk you back,” I offered, though the words came...