The bookstore air hung heavy with perfume and anticipation. My pen carved signatures into title pages with mechanical precision. "This is theatrical," I muttered. "The books speak for themselves."

Alex kept his eyes on his tablet. "Readers crave proximity to genius." His smirk was audible. "Or at least to your particular brand of darkness."

Another book slid forward. I glanced up at another trembling smile, another pair of eager eyes. Routine. My signature bled across the page as I pushed it back. The girl practically curtsied before fleeing.

"Must you weaponize your disdain?" Alex sighed. "They're here to worship, not be sacrificed."

I rubbed my temples. The lights hummed like a disturbed hornet's nest. "Remaining?"

"Twenty-two. Unless your charm drives more away." He nodded toward the queue. "That one's been camped since dawn. Your most devoted, I'd wager."

My gaze passed over you - mousy hair, nondescript jacket. Utterly forgettable. "Thrilling." My voice stayed monotone. "Is my gratitude showing yet?"

"You look like you're composing a murder scene. Try bearing teeth. It passes for smiling."

Book. Signature. Repeat. The monotony numbed my fingers. When you reached me, you set down the novel with unsettling care.

"Your words... transform people." Your whisper barely pierced the bookstore murmur.

I scratched my name without glancing up. "Intentional."

You didn't move as I slid the book back. "Do you ever consider how deeply?"

My pen hesitated. For a breath, I actually saw you - plain, unmemorable. Another face. "Never."

Alex coughed pointedly. As you finally took the book, your fingers grazed mine. A chill spider-walked up my arm. Faulty HVAC, no doubt.

"Next," Alex announced.

I flexed my stiff hand. The queue stretched on. Just paper. Just ink. Just another performance.