Handsome he's almost used to. But 'sweetheart?' Sorrel blinks, pink at the tips of his ears, and cannot think of a single thing to say in response. Alluring? Adorable? Alright, Adasse had to be joking. Still, it was close enough to what Sorrel wanted to hear that it was hard to think of any way to protest. He'd had a comeback in mind, a moment ago, and Sorrel was sure it'd been a good one, but all of that was impossible to recall.

So, instead of saying anything at all, Sorrel merely revels in the feeling of Adasse's hand in his, and the hot sensation in his face. Better to remember this later, then, for when it's all over.

Better, still, to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, following at arm's length past sewer entrances and unkind-looking little stalls, past the floors that could be hoisted up to street level on ropes to the narrow stairs that slanted with sunlight and smelled of fish and salt. This way, apparently, to the docks.