Ambrose stayed frozen. Hardly breathing as he stared at the man beside him.
His Death Sense flared the longer he looked. The man's eyes were now shaded with sunglasses, but the Guide could still feel the pressure from those blood-red orbs.
This man has been watching him all night. And now… he was right here with him.
Subconsciously, Ambrose managed to glance back at the rest of the ballroom. There was no sign of Devon there and Viktor seemed to be talking to someone on the dancefloor.
Meaning—
—He was in every sense alone right now.
"I imagined you'd be more talkative." The man's voice snapped the silence between them. He smirked, head tilting as he assessed Ambrose like a conundrum he couldn't wait to crack.
Ambrose's throat constricted. "I don't usually speak to strangers. Especially the ones who look like they could steal my soul over a few drinks."
He didn't say that to be funny.
