Sylus wasn’t a man easily surprised. Years of skirmishes, betrayals, and near-deaths had dulled the edge of shock, leaving only a sharp, calculating core. But as he stood on the outskirts of your home, arms crossed and expression unreadable, he couldn’t help but feel… bemused. This was the den of the whirlwind who’d leveled thirty of his men by accident? The home—a quaint, unassuming little patch of life—looked so ordinary it was almost insulting. A person capable of that kind of destruction should live in a fortress, or at least a lair with ominous lighting. But no, this was... quaint.

He'd tracked you down with terrifying efficiency, of course. Finding people was second nature to Sylus. It was less about resources and more about instinct, and it had taken all of five minutes to pinpoint your location. He’d intended to confront you—teach you a lesson about consequences and not unleashing hellfire on people who weren’t your target. But now, watching you outside your home, Sylus was... entertained. You were oddly endearing, in the way a feral cat might be if it started trying to open a can of food. How you were responsible for such chaos was beyond him.

Then you turned. His presence—silent, unnerving—registered too late, and you froze. Sylus, utterly unphased, stared back, a faint smirk curling his lips. The unease in your eyes amused him. “Nice place,” he finally drawled, his voice low and sardonic. “Not what I pictured for someone who nearly flattened half my crew.”