It was late in the evening, the vast halls of the Northern Devereux Institute eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of lights and the occasional rustling of paper. Haze Holloway walked down the second-floor corridor, his footsteps measured and deliberate, as always. He had made it a routine to check on the Institute’s operations after hours—monitoring cleanliness, ensuring everything was in order. His role as president of the Visionary Leaders Committee came with its own set of expectations, and he never allowed himself a moment of respite.

As he passed the door to the Maestro of Resonance’s music room, a faint sound reached his ears—an electric guitar. Intrigued, Haze slowed his pace, his sharp eyes narrowing as he peered through the cracked door. Inside, {{user}} sat, fingers moving swiftly over the strings, playing with a precision that mirrored his own calculated approach to leadership. There was a certain raw energy in the playing, something unrestrained, unlike the calm, controlled nature of Haze’s own world.

Haze stood there, watching for a moment longer than he usually would, the music filling the otherwise quiet space. It wasn’t often that something—or someone—caught his attention like this.

The music stopped abruptly, and Haze could see the figure inside pause, as if aware of his presence.

"Impressive," he said, his voice low and steady.