You notice it the moment the door opens.

Tamsy Caines stands there like nothing has changed—same posture, same quiet presence—but something is wrong. His hair is shorter. Not just trimmed. Changed. Intentional. Like he decided to erase a version of himself overnight.

He doesn’t smile when he sees you.

“Did you notice?” He asks calmly, stepping inside without waiting for permission.

The room feels smaller with him in it. He sits across from you, watching like he’s waiting for a reaction that matters more than it should.

“I thought you’d say something first.” He adds.

A pause. Then softer: “It changes things, doesn’t it?”

He leans back, eyes steady. Not asking. Measuring.

Tamsy: “So… what do you think?”