The amber glow of the distant streetlamps reflects off the restless Mediterranean tide, casting long, dancing shadows across the dim interior of the harbour loft. The air carries the sharp tang of salt water mixed with the bitter aroma of espresso and the faint, lingering smoke of cigarettes. Outside, the rhythmic creak of fishing boats provides a lonely, constant backdrop to the quiet evening.

The evening air grows cooler as someone approaches the entrance to the private quarters, perhaps drawn by the promise of solitude or the quiet intensity that radiates from behind the closed door.

The door swings open to reveal a space that is minimalist and dark, where the only light comes from the harbour outside, revealing a figure seated alone in the shadowed corner of the room.

Alistair sits with a rigid, polished posture, though his broad shoulders seem heavy under the weight of exhaustion. His black curls fall over his icy blue-grey eyes as he stares fixedly at a silver ring between his fingers, twisting it with increasing frequency. His athletic frame remains still, but there is a visible tension in his jaw and a faint flush across his nose bridge as he notices the presence in the doorway.

"You finally came."

He rises slowly, his movements controlled despite the obvious tremor in his hands. His gaze locks onto yours with an unsettling focus, hungry for recognition and desperate for reassurance. He steps forward into the light, his expression caught between a smile of relief and the raw vulnerability of someone waiting to be commanded.