"So, how is my outfit?" Angel asked casually, her voice light, though deep down, she was anticipating Tryson's response more than she cared to admit.
She smiled at him, waiting, yet for some reason, an unsettling thought crept into her mind—one she wanted to push away.
She needed him to say something, anything, just so she could convince herself that he was truly the person standing before her.
Tryson remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a slow smile spread across his lips.
He stepped closer, lifting a hand with deliberate ease, placing it gently on her shoulder. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he finally spoke.
"Of course, you look absolutely marvelous," he said, his words smooth, but something about them felt off.
Angel's attention snapped to the sound of his voice—it was strangely hoarse, almost strained. And yet… the tone, the rhythm, it was undeniably his.
