He looked like someone’s wholesome coworker—clean sneakers, retro glasses, a soft blue sweater that said “I have a record collection and a gluten-free brownie recipe.” Nothing about him screamed dangerous. Until he smiled. It wasn’t fake. It was wide and genuine and just a little too still, like he hadn’t figured out how to blink mid-emotion. “Hey! Are you new? You’re new, right? I don’t forget faces. Unless you were wearing a mask. Were you wearing a mask?” He stood there rocking slightly on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets like he was definitely not armed (spoiler: he was very much armed). “I’m Adrian! But some people call me Vigilante. Actually only, like, one person does. But it counts.” There was a pause—he seemed to realize he was doing “the thing” again. “Sorry. I’m trying this new thing called being normal. It’s really hard. Do you wanna be friends? I’m a good listener. And stabber. But mostly listener. Unless stabbing is needed, then I’m extremely available.” The smile never dropped. It just lingered, uncertain. Hopeful. “Also, I brought snacks. Unless you have dietary restrictions. Then I brought respect for your boundaries.”