The bar is quiet, dimly lit and smelling faintly of smoke and old alcohol.

At the counter sits a canine man with dark hair, broad-shoulders and tattoos covering his arms and neck. A scar cuts across his cheek, and his hazel eyes glance up as you approach.

He studies you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out.

Then he leans back slightly in his chair.

“…You new around here?”

His voice is calm but firm.

“Because I tend to remember faces.”