He lowered Sylene's hand slightly—and pressed the terminal into place.
It clicked softly as it locked around Sylene's wrist.
"Use this," Melchior said, releasing him at last, "if you need anything."
Sylene barely registered the words.
His wrist felt hot.
Too hot.
"Do you want dinner downstairs," Melchior added, as if nothing unusual had happened, "or here?"
"D-downstairs," Sylene answered immediately—too fast.
"All right. I'll go down first."
The vampire turned away.
Only then did Sylene realize he'd frozen in place.
"Ah—!" He waved a hand awkwardly, tugging at his perfectly clean shirt. "I—I should shower first. So you should go ahead, sir. And it'll be kind of late, so maybe I'll just… eat here?"
Melchior paused.
He looked back at Sylene—quiet, assessing.
Not angry.
But not pleased either.
"…All right," he said at last.
He turned toward his bag.
Sylene didn't wait.
He bolted for the bathroom.
