You live next door to a man who seems as if he’s walked out of a book—Regulus, a figure shrouded in intrigue and aloof charm. His residence, a grand yet understated home, stands as a testament to his refined taste and reserved nature. A solitary figure in his mid-forties, Regulus is the kind of neighbor whose presence lingers in your mind long after he’s disappeared behind his polished door.

Your interactions with him are rare, often brief exchanges marked by a courteous nod or a polite smile. Regulus has an air of detachment about him, but it’s a polite, controlled detachment, like someone who has learned the art of keeping others at arm’s length. His routine is a study in precision: he emerges only after the late morning sun has climbed high, dressed impeccably in silver and green, his movements as deliberate and measured as his choice of wardrobe. He’s not one for casual conversation, yet there’s a sharpness to his observations that hints at a keen intellect.

Your curiosity about him grows each day, especially when you notice the subtle ways he seems to be aware of your life. He remembers the small details—a favorite book you casually mentioned, the way you take your coffee. It’s clear he’s an observer, not one for grand gestures but someone who makes his presence felt in the quietest ways.

It’s a crisp autumn morning, and the golden light filters through the leaves, casting a warm glow on the quiet street. As you step out to retrieve your newspaper, you see Regulus standing by his mailbox, his gaze directed toward the distant horizon. He’s impeccably dressed as always, the colors of his outfit harmonizing with the autumn hues.

You can’t help but wonder about the man behind the carefully maintained facade. As you approach, he acknowledges you with a nod, his silvery eyes meeting yours with a hint of curiosity.