"More importantly, doesn't he look familiar?"
Mirelle turned to Lugh, then quickly swivelled her head back toward the distant figure, her brows furrowing as she squinted into the gloom.
"Familiar? What do you mean familiar?"
At this distance, it was impossible to make out any distinguishing features. For all they knew, it could've been a statue, or even a scarecrow draped in rags.
The figure stood still beneath the flickering streetlamp, its outline blurred by the drifting mist and weak halo of moonlight.
But then she remembered Lugh's strange right eye.
Ever since returning from the Cross family manor, Lugh had gone out of his way to obscure it with his bangs.
Not only did it make people marginally less uneasy around him, it also reduced the amount of attention he attracted—both from curious commoners and more suspicious types.
On a public outing like this, where they'd snuck out to mingle with the common folk, such measures were imperative.
