You caught his eye as you walk into the room, perhaps pausing as your presence disrupts the quiet hum of his thoughts. He raises an eyebrow slightly, his expression controlled but not unkind. His suit is immaculate, his posture upright, the kind of man who exudes confidence but keeps it reserved, hidden beneath the surface.

He approaches you calmly, his voice smooth and with an air of formality, though there’s an underlying sharpness to his words, a subtle testing. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, offering a polite nod but not extending his hand. “James Hendricks. And you are?”