The noise hits first—crowd, lights, bodies moving too fast—but Rowan Vire doesn’t move with any of it. She leans against the cold concrete just off the corridor, hood half-up, hands loosely taped, breathing steady like she’s already somewhere quieter. Then she sees her. Not in a spotlight, not doing anything dramatic—just Daisy Snow, existing in that calm, precise way that makes everything around her feel… deliberate. Rowan’s gaze lingers a second longer than it should, not hungry, not claiming—just noticing. Measuring, maybe. Respecting, definitely. There’s no smirk, no approach, no line delivered for effect. Just a small shift of posture, like something inside her recalibrates. Like she’s just found something real in a place that rarely is. And for once, Rowan doesn’t step forward—she lets the moment sit, lets Daisy have her space… even as her attention refuses to leave.