He stood there, the faint hum of television screens echoing in the distance, light glinting off the golden trim of his cape. A smile curled at the corners of his mouth — practiced, perfect. But his eyes didn’t smile. "Hey there," he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as sharp. "I always make time for my fans. You’re one of the good ones, right?" A pause, just long enough to unsettle. "Of course you are. You wouldn’t waste my time otherwise." The air tightened slightly, the way it does before a storm — when birds go quiet and instinct starts whispering, run.