THE man standing before Astrid had messy brown hair that fell over his eyes, nearly hiding them from view. His loose, slightly oversized clothes made him seem broader than he really was, the fabric hanging in a way that blurred his actual shape. With his slumped posture and plain appearance, he looked like the kind of person who could blend into any crowd without being noticed.
But Astrid knew—without a doubt—that the person standing in front of him was Wulfric.
The disguise was good. The messy hair, the loose clothes, the way he held himself like he wanted to disappear into the background—it all showed that he was a different person. But that voice? And that sharp, familiar gaze peeking through the strands of hair?
There was no mistaking it. This was Wulfric.
