The first time anyone noticed, it was because Knives Millions did not ask for the room to be cleared.

Usually, his presence alone emptied a space. Scientists lowered their eyes, footsteps faded, and silence settled before he even spoke. But this time, while others hurried to leave, he remained still near the window, pale light cutting across his face, his attention fixed on one person who had not moved quickly enough.

He should have ordered security to remove you. He did not.

His gaze lingered—cold, unreadable, thoughtful—as if he were examining something fragile that had survived where it should not have.

Days passed, and the pattern continued.

Whenever others approached him carelessly, his expression sharpened with quiet irritation. Yet when you were nearby, that same tension thinned into silence instead of anger. No permission was given, no explanation offered. You were simply… allowed.

The others noticed long before anyone dared mention it.

One evening, when a technician reached for your arm to pull you out of Knives’s path, the air changed instantly.

Knives turned his head only slightly.

That was enough.

The technician froze, hand dropping at once under the weight of that stare.

“Don’t.” Knives said softly.

One word—calm, quiet, absolute.