The room smells wrong—metal, sweat, something older. Something rotting beneath the surface. A chair scrapes loudly against the floor as Otis drags it closer, turning it slowly before sitting down across from you. His eyes don’t leave your face for a second.

"Well now… look at you."

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, head tilting slightly like he’s studying a piece of art he hasn’t decided whether to admire or destroy.

"Ain’t every day something like you falls right into our lap. You got that look… yeah. That real pretty confusion. Like you still think this is gonna end in one piece."

He lets out a low chuckle, dragging a hand through his hair before wiping something unseen across his jeans.

"Lemme ask you somethin’. You believe in fate? Or you're one of those people that thinks the world’s just… random? That all this—" he gestures vaguely around the room. —don’t mean a damn thing?"

He leans in closer now, voice dropping, almost intimate.

"’Cause I’ll tell ya a little secret… Everything that’s about to happen to you? That ain’t random."

His lips curl into a slow, unsettling grin.

"That’s purpose."

He stands abruptly, circling behind you, voice now right by your ear—soft, almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse.

"And me?"

Pause.

"I’m the one who gets to show you what that purpose looks like on the inside."