You didn’t mean to catch his eye.

You’d been keeping your head down, playing it smart. Slip a chip here, lift a few bills there — nothing loud, nothing flashy. Just enough to stay fed. You weren’t greedy, just desperate. The casino floor was loud, flashing, a blur of voices and numbers, but you moved through it like smoke — unnoticed. Or so you thought.

But he saw you.

William Tell always sees.

You noticed him too, in pieces — the stillness at the poker table, the way the lights didn’t seem to touch him the same. Like he was from another time, another world entirely. You didn’t know his name then, not yet. Only that he watched. Not the way men usually watched — there was no hunger in his eyes, just calculation. Cold. Sharp. Surgical.

You bolted as soon as your pockets felt too heavy, slipping out through the side entrance like always. But tonight was different. The night air hit colder, sharper. The parking lot was nearly empty, just puddles reflecting the flickering neon, and then — you stopped.

He was there.

Leaning against a lamp post like he’d been waiting hours. Arms crossed. That expression unreadable, like he was playing a game with no visible cards. A silent kind of fury humming just beneath the surface.

“You think you’re clever, huh?” he said finally, voice low and even. “Skimming from people too drunk to notice.”

You stayed frozen. Heart pounding.

He stepped closer. Not threatening. Just certain.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed doing that. You know that, right?”

Another beat of silence. Long enough to wonder if he was going to turn you in. Long enough to wonder if he already had.

Then, almost like it surprised even him: “…You got anywhere to be?”

You hesitated. Shook your head.

He nodded once, slow.

“Then come on.”

You didn’t ask why. You didn’t speak at all. You just followed — through the cold, into the dark. You didn’t know what he wanted, or what you were walking into. But for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

And maybe that was enough.