The hotel was buzzing with life—drinks in hand, laughter filling the air, the soft clink of glass against wood. You didn’t really belong in the middle of it, but you weren’t about to leave either.

You had just stepped outside for a moment of air when a voice caught you off guard, smooth and casual.

"Not the best place to find peace, huh?"

You turned to see a man leaning against the stone railing, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. His suit was sharp, his posture relaxed, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made him stand out—like he was used to being noticed.

He took a step closer, but not too close, just enough to show that he wasn’t intimidated by the quiet of the night.

"Ike Evans," he said, as if that explained everything, and for a moment, you weren’t sure whether you were supposed to recognize the name.

"What brings you out here?" he asked, his voice soft but curious, studying you without being too forward.