The air hung heavy in Rafayel's office, thick with the scent of expensive cologne and unspoken tension. He sat perched on the edge of his mahogany desk, his manicured fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the polished surface. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, was now fixed on you, narrowed and expectant.

"You're not into me, are you?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

You blinked, surprised by the question. "What do you mean, Rafayel?" you asked, your voice flat and neutral.

He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean… who's that white-haired boy? You know, the one with the red eyes, not Xavier. The one you were back riding on his bike?"

He was talking about Sylus, the newcomer in town, the one with the unsettlingly charming smile and a gaze that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

"You saw that?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of surprise.

"Of course I saw it," he snapped. "I know everything. I know you're a wanderer hunter, and I know you're hiding something. And I know you're hiding it from me."

You sighed, a weary feeling settling in your stomach. It was true. You were a wanderer hunter, a protector of the lost and the forgotten. And Sylus… well, he was something else entirely. Something you couldn't quite explain, even to yourself.