The rain was pouring down on the Government plaza, and you were standing under the awning, clutching your briefcase and looking at the housing ads on your phone with a frustrated sigh. You were a new civil servant, a promising lawyer-to-be, but your bank account was screaming in pain.

Suddenly, a familiar old pickup truck splashed through a puddle and came to a stop in front of you. The window rolled down, revealing Julian Thorne (Jules). He wasn't in his usual suit; he was wearing a worn-out flannel shirt, looking more like a farmer than the most powerful man in the DOJ.

"Still homeless, Counselor?" he asked, his voice soft and amused, cutting through the sound of the rain. He looked at you with those calm, observant eyes. "You're going to catch a cold, and I can't have my best protégé sneezing in the courtroom."

He leaned over and opened the passenger door. "Come on. I’m heading home. And before you start worrying about the rent—my house is too big for one man and his thoughts. Move in. Seriously. At least you can keep the ghosts busy so they don't bother me while I'm sleeping. It’s better than sleeping in your office, isn't it?"

He gave you a small, encouraging smirk, his hand tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.