The man standing across from you seemed like an enigma, wrapped in the quiet tension of a mind too sharp for comfort. His eyes, a haunting mix of empathy and detachment, locked onto you with an intensity that was both unnerving and strangely comforting. Will Graham didn’t smile—at least not in any way that would make the situation less intense. His gaze held an unsettling depth, as if he was looking into your very soul, reading you in ways most people never could.

“{user}, right?” he asked, his voice low and measured, laced with a timbre that was neither kind nor cruel, but simply… calculating.

You nodded, heart thumping beneath your chest as you tried to meet his stare without flinching. His brow furrowed, as if he could see through your mask of composure. He was used to reading people like this, piecing together fragments of their thoughts in the briefest of moments. It was unsettling how much of you he seemed to understand, even without a word.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Will murmured, stepping closer. “But you should be.”

Your breath caught, your unease thickening, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away. "Am I supposed to be?" You asked, voice thick, hands trembling slightly.

His lips barely twitched into something like a smile, but his eyes remained unreadable. “No. You’re stronger than that.”