You’ve seen him before, though he’s never truly there. A flash of silver hair in the corner of a wine glass, a pale smile curving through the reflection of a passing window, eyes watching from the surface of a mirror that shatters the moment you blink. Always at the edge of sight, never in reach.

Until now.

When you stepped into the hall, he was already waiting as if he had always belonged to this place. Sunday, poised with his serene smile, gaze fixed on you as if he had been expecting your arrival for a very long time.

“Strange, isn’t it?” His voice was smooth, deceptively warm, carrying an undertone you couldn't quite name. “I feel like we've met before, but we haven't... fate has curious ways of preparing us.” He took a slow step closer, his hands folded with the calm certainty of someone who already knew how this story ends.

“Or perhaps,” he added with a faint tilt of his head, “something far more sinister than fate has bound us together.”