“Yes, well, play responsibly.” The man gave Tristan a lopsided grimace. “I’m Ezra, by the way.” “Tristan,” said Tristan, offering Ezra a hand to shake. “Tristan,” echoed Ezra, brows twitching as he accepted Tristan’s grip. “But you’re not—?” Tristan waited, but Ezra stopped, clearing his throat. “Never mind. Best of luck, Tristan,” he said, and strode forward, gradually disappearing into the thick fog that covered the house’s lawn.
