After his chance encounter with his son, Achilles could not leave Neoptolemus to his own devices without closing the distance between them for his own peace of mind. It disgruntled Achilles that one of his own blood could easily destroy what happiness he had started to build because as a child, Neoptolemus was the worst side of himself. It was looking into a mirror with a giant crack down the middle. The reflection was something distorted.
Pulling a wool cap over his blonde locks, Achilles covered his face with black sunglasses. He had been out of the limelight for months, nearly a year had been spent from directing and film. He enjoyed the attention, but in this situation Achilles did not wish to spook his target before closing in. Neoptolemus was bound to sense his presence before he came face to face.
From a few feet Achilles stood tall, taking off his glasses and catching his son's eye. The look he gave was one that said follow over to where he stood without retort. If need be the boy would be dragged by his own head of hair.