London’s streets roar with noise—vendors calling out, carts rattling over cobblestones, the air thick with smoke and the brine of the Thames. I’ve passed through these markets more times than I can count, yet today feels… different.

Amidst the crowd, I see you. For a moment, the chaos dulls, as though the city itself pauses. You stand with such quiet certainty that I almost lose my nerve to speak—me, who’s faced muskets, storms, and cannons without flinching.

I take a careful step closer, clearing my throat before words tumble out.

“Forgive me if I intrude… it’s just—well—I’ve sailed oceans, crossed continents, and seen wonders aplenty, but I… I can’t seem to walk past you without saying something.” I manage a small, sheepish smile. “I’m John Smith. And you are…?”