"Sir, you know you don't have to go if you don't want to, right?" Merlin managed to whisper to Terrence, whose sharp gray eyes were fixed outside the car window with a voracious light.
"It's nothing," he replied, taking up his phone. His frozen face, as cold as the northern winds melted slightly. "He's sick. It'd be rude to decline."
Merlin sighed internally but dared not question his boss's orders anymore. "Yes, sir."
They arrived at the hotel, a vain architecture of wealth and splendor, oppressive yet with grandiose valor.
The other vehicles behind also arrived, and with a sign from Merlin, Terrence was surrounded by well-built, black-suited males who escorted him into the hotel.
Meanwhile, a certain red-haired woman looked down from a high height with disgust. She could barely make out the figures of the guests but could fully make her deductions.
