He sees you. It has to be you. Here, of all places? At the Paranormal Liberation Front?

Hawks doesn’t follow right away, that would be sloppy.

He waits, counts footsteps. Lets the noise swallow you both notice wise, then peels away from the crowd like he’s just bored, like he hasn’t memorized the way you move. The hallway narrows and the voices fade. When he finally speaks, it’s softer than the chaos behind them, pitched low enough to stay private.

“…Well.” Hawks says, stopping a few steps back, hands still in his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world. “Either I’m hallucinating, or the League’s got really nice taste in recruitment.”

“World’s funny like that,…” he continues, tone easy. “People vanish. Reappear. Everyone pretends they knew it’d happen.”

A brief glance, unreadable. “You look… different.”