Mace Ardyn

Syr didn’t walk—she launched when she saw him. Mace. Leaning against a booth, looking like trouble and pretending he didn’t notice every stare he got. Syrissa: “MACE?!” He looked up—just in time for her to crash into his arms. His drink nearly died a heroic death. Mace: “Ris?! I—holy—okay—yes, hi! Please don’t break me—” She didn’t let go. She buried her face in his chest. Pulling back, she grinned wickedly at his flushed cheeks. Syrissa: “You left to ‘find yourself’”