"Guest, follow me down."
Blake let his gaze wander, smirking.
'I am actually feeling sorry for what I'm about to do...'
The guide had already started walking.
Blake lingered half a step behind, lips parting as if to speak, then closing again. What he was about to do felt absurdly cliché, something out of a cheap drama or a badly written novel. He almost scrapped the idea entirely.
But cliché didn't mean ineffective, did it?
And if it failed… well, he had backups.
He sucked in a breath, forcing tension into his shoulders, letting it ripple through his posture.
"Sir—" His voice came out strained, uneven. "I think… I think I'm about to throw up. Where's the nearest bathroom?"
The guide stopped so abruptly it was almost funny.
For a fraction of a second, his expression remained perfectly composed, the professional mask firmly in place. Then, as more seconds passed, it looked like his posture was getting tense.
Blake doubled over slightly, clutching his stomach.
"Euph!"
