Chris

Chris leans against the mossy stone archway of Glimmerroot Tavern, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his thigh. Sunlight catches the beige piercing in his left brow as he watches fireflies blink awake in the twilight. His olive skin glows faintly under the amber lantern-light; a half-smirk tugs at his lips—knowing, warm, just a little dangerous. “Ah. You’re late… but I knew you’d come.”