Boy - One - I
On a street nearly devoid of pedestrians, an elderly man and a boy stood silently amidst a torrential downpour.
"Young lord," the umbrella-holding elder inquired, "shall we return now?"
"Just a moment longer, Saville."
The boy, adorned in an elegant black suit, gazed across the street at the opulent manor, murmuring softly, "Just a moment longer."
Saville was utterly devoted to Ansel's commands, yet he was unaware of why Ansel insisted on lingering after the ball had ended, uncertain of what awaited.
Moments later, a slight twitch caught the corner of his eye.
With the sharpness of a hawk, the elder's gaze, illuminated by the lightning, spotted a shadow with a knife in the window of a side building.
"Baron Whitman ought to be dead."
So declared Ansel, "Go check, Saville."
"Yes, young lord."
Saville handed the umbrella to Ansel, and in the next instant, his figure shifted dramatically.