Phoenix Flight HQ
"Look who made it in time for curfew." The first thing that welcomed Ambrose as he stepped into his suite was Devon's voice and the blare of a fast-food commercial.
The S-Rank stood ahead with his arms folded in a way that reminded him of his mom in his past life. He sure aced the judgmental look and intense pose.
"It's almost nine pm, already?" Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck, opening the door all the way in. "Welp. That explains the guards lining the hallways like it's a World War III camp."
"It isn't funny, Rose," Devon clicked on the remote, tuning down the television's volume. "You are just four minutes shy of curfew. You've been in this Guild long enough to know how my grandfather can get about rules and—"
"Dearie me." Another baritone resounded behind Ambrose. One that made Devon's forehead crease. "He's here now, isn't he? Get some water on that flaming hair of yours."
