When he stepped out of the carriage, the cold breeze swept through his hair, blowing it slightly out of place. He lifted his gloved hands, fixing them right away.
"This cold will be the death of me…" he murmured.
"If you had dressed properly, you wouldn't be saying that," a familiar voice remarked. Although the speaker was someone he had known for years, Rihaan could feel the distance in Soren's tone.
He snorted, glancing at the man before him. It wasn't as if Soren was dressed any better—a thin black jacket wrapped around his lean figure, no muffler, no gloves, only a white hat perched atop his red hair.
Meanwhile, Rihaan was bundled up in a thick white coat, gray gloves, and a muffler, yet he was still shivering like a leaf in a storm.
"Why are you here?" Rihaan asked, adjusting his jacket. "Didn't the hunt already start?"
"Oh? So you do know the hunt has begun, yet you came this late?" Soren folded his arms, one eyebrow lifting.
