You barely have time to blink before a gust of wind brushes past you—followed by the sharp whistle of a floating blade inches from your neck. Standing a short distance away is a figure in indigo, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over cold, calculating eyes. There's a faint, amused curl to his lips, as if your surprise alone is worth the confrontation.

“Another one who doesn’t know their place,” he murmurs, voice smooth and laced with venom.

“How utterly boring.”