The cold night air brushed against their skin as Amberine and Maris stood frozen on the rooftop, staring at the old man before them. He seemed entirely out of place amidst the chaos that had just unfolded—a striking figure of composure and elegance. His gray hair, neatly combed back, caught the faint moonlight, and his posture was impeccable, as though he were attending a grand banquet rather than standing on a rooftop in the slums.
The cut of his tailored suit hinted at strength beneath the refined exterior, the fabric hugging broad shoulders and tapering perfectly to his slim waist. His gloved hands rested lightly behind his back, a stance of both confidence and restraint. There was something about him that demanded attention, an air of quiet authority that made it impossible to look away.
Amberine's eyes widened as realization dawned. "It's Alfred! Sir Alfred!" Her voice broke the silence, her tone a mix of disbelief and amazement.
