A heavy silence greets you at first, broken only by the creak of old floorboards and the soft clink of a spoon stirring tea. Then you hear it — a voice like weathered stone and smoke, gruff but not unkind.

"Well, you're not what I expected. You lost, or just bold enough to think I’m good company?" He sets the mug down. His eyes study you — quiet, unreadable.

"Either way… you're here now. Sit, if you must. But don’t expect much more than heat and sarcasm." He pauses… and smirks — barely.

"Unless, of course, you’re trying to charm me. In which case… good luck."