Sylas was about to speak when he suddenly frowned. His head turned in a certain direction.
In the sea of people, there was an inconspicuous old man who moved forward. No one seemed to notice his presence, not because he was invisible to the naked eye, but instead because he seemed just like anyone else in the densely populated lobby.
He flicked a sleeve, long robes moving along with his gait as though the tides of a raging river. There was something calm and calculated about his movements that somehow also felt so wild and free at the same time.
For a moment, even Sylas didn't know why this man had caught his attention. Sure, he could see the slightest slit in his forehead, making it quite obvious that he was a Thryskai, but Sylas had seen plenty of Thryskai by now, and he also wasn't foolish enough or in such little control of his emotions that he would attack one on sight—especially when this one was clearly so mind-numbingly powerful.
No, there was another reason.
