She catches his eye, like a firefly glistening in the night sky, hair of gold not very much unlike women of Norse blood.
He is here to meet a woman - another woman, not of Norse blood, and certainly not of her calibre - she is young, successful, but lonely - they were all young, successful and lonely - and he has been the most interesting, charming little thing to ever waltz through her life.
She was gone all too quickly, after promises of money she has too much of and love between the sheets, and now he's alone, looking at another girl.
He tried to make a promise - should have promised, now that Sigyn was back - but the world now was nothing like the world they lived in, and this was just how it had to be.
She was attractive. He'd give her that. But all women were attractive from a certain angle; very, very ugly from another. He knows his women when he sees them - sees something different in this one.
He stared at her until she notices - until she looks up at him, and even as their eyes meet across the room, he doesn't bother to look away or pretend - they are too old for coy games of preteen summer love - he only smiles, and it's just as plastic as the one she had put on the moment she walked through those doors.