Heat rushed to his cheeks even as a chill went down his spine. Four years. He hadn’t seen you in four years, not since before he left. The memory of his younger self—brash, loud, desperately vying for your attention with grand gestures and shameless proclamations—flooded back with a wave of acute embarrassment.

He fixed his eyes straight ahead, jaw tightening. He was the Master of Dawn Winery now. He had responsibilities, a city to protect from the shadows. A childhood infatuation was a relic of a simpler, foolish time. He increased his pace, the polished heels of his boots clicking against the cobblestones.