Freya’s POV

A man.

He smelled like old cologne and something sour—maybe beer, maybe cheap aftershave. Either way, it hit me first, a wall of heavy musk that made my headache twitch sharper behind my eyes.

He was thick-set and sweaty, with a receding hairline and a face just red enough to suggest he was a few drinks in already. 

His shirt was half untucked and strained across a beer belly that pressed too far into my personal ...