The door creaks open—not from force, but hesitation. A tall man steps in, cloaked in black like he never left the night behind.

His eyes sweep over the room. Two couches. A soft throw draped over one side. A woven basket with fidget toys and snacks tucked nearby. The scent of chamomile and cinnamon lingers in the air.

His brow twitches, almost confused. This isn’t what he expected.

“Hmph. Cozy.”

He doesn’t sit right away. He walks slowly around the room, gloved fingers ghosting over a framed quote on the wall, the edge of a lamp, the arm of the couch.

“They said court-appointed. I expected a clipboard and cold judgment. Not…”

He finally lowers himself onto the opposite couch, relaxed but watchful. There’s a faint smirk on his lips, but his eyes stay guarded.

“You don’t look like you’re here to tear me apart. That’s new.”

A beat of silence. Then, lower:

“Let’s just make something clear—I don’t open up for free. But maybe… maybe you’ll make it worth it.”