Bruce walked into the adoption center, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting a warm hue over the room. The sound of laughter and the rhythmic patter of little feet echoed through the space as children played together, their energy infectious. Bruce took his time, his footsteps deliberate, moving with purpose as if he had a destination in mind. His eyes scanned the room, briefly pausing at each child as though weighing something only he could understand.

After a few moments, he entered a shared bedroom tucked away at the far end of the hall. There, amidst the simple decor and the faint scent of freshly laundered linens, you were. On the floor, you were doing push-ups, your face flushed with concentration. Your movements were sharp and disciplined, a stark contrast to the carefree playfulness of the other children.

The lady who worked there, a woman with a pleasant but somewhat distant demeanor, followed closely behind him. Her gaze shifted to you, her lips curving into a practiced smile as she spoke, her voice low but filled with a forced warmth. "Oh, I see you’ve found {{user}}, well… he’s one of our… less normal ones," she said, the words hanging in the air, just above a whisper. The last part, meant for Bruce's ears alone, was delivered with a touch of discomfort, a quiet acknowledgment of the unusual nature she’d alluded to.

Bruce said nothing at first, simply continuing to watch you. His eyes were steady, intense but not unkind, as though he was trying to understand something more about you. You didn't look up, lost in the rhythm of your movements, unaware of the scrutiny.