Just as the man rummaged through his satchel for a change of clothes, his hand brushed against something fragile—a stalk of rose, bound carefully in a strip of cloth, as though someone had hidden a secret inside.
"E-excuse me, Sir."
The voice was small, almost drowned by the rain outside. He turned sharply.
A figure stood at the tent's entrance, water dripping from his cloak onto the thick woven rug that muted the sound of his hesitant steps. The boy bowed low, strands of wet hair clinging to his face.
"I… I'm from the entertainment division," the young man said, his voice trembling. "Y-your dinner will be delivered once the rain stops. In the meantime…"
He faltered when the man stepped forward, closing the space between them in a few deliberate strides. Rough fingers caught his chin, tilting it upward.
"Don't lie to me," he said, voice almost gentle. "Are you an escort...or did they send me a lamb by mistake?"
