Alex made his way barefoot down to the living room, accompanied by Arwen, who was dressed in a long white gown, which she used as her sleeping attire.
Upon arrival in the sitting room, Alex laid eyes on the bearded individual who had decided to pay him such a late visit seated on one of the three couches arranged in the room.
The man in question was in his late forties, just as Arwen had deduced, with a head full of black hair and a skin shade that seemed darker than the average Henosian.
Alex guessed he was a Razan immigrant.
He wore a brown cento with a black birrus accompanied with a pair of brown sandals.
Currently, the hood of his birrus was down, and he was sipping on a cup of grape juice Arwen had provided for him.
Though he appeared relaxed, Alex could tell this was only temporary.
His visitor was like an arrow on a bow that had already been pulled taut.
