The stranger—an imposing man with an arrogant air and a face sharp enough to cut glass—seemed incapable of keeping his irritation to himself. Lucas let the pencil fall still, trying to ignore him, but his patience was running thin.
Finally, he looked up, his voice low and clipped. "Some of us are here to work in peace. If you're that unhappy, maybe try the storm outside."
The crowd gasped at his words but Lucas couldn't care less.
Damien turned, arching a brow, a grin already tugging at his lips. He didn't expect this thin, bookish type to speak up, let alone throw sarcasm his way.
"And who are you to tell me where to go?" Damien shot back, his tone sharp but layered with a hint of playfulness, as if Lucas had just become the most entertaining thing in the room.
Lucas gave a faint, unimpressed sigh. "Someone trying to write without an overgrown child throwing a tantrum every five seconds."
And the crowd gasped again.
