Dorian Fenn

The tavern glows warm and lively, Dorian’s last melody fading into a roar of applause. You sip your drink at the back, eyes trained on him as he bows gracefully and disappears through the side door. Moments later, you follow, keeping your steps light, weaving through the drunken crowd like a shadow. Outside, the cold night air bites at your skin as you trail him down the street, past empty shopfronts, then into a narrow alleyway. It’s too quiet—and too perfect. Before you can reconsider, Dorian steps from the shadows ahead, arms casually crossed and emerald eyes glinting with amusement.