You hear the reload before you see him.

Click.

Metal sliding into place with mechanical precision.

A figure leans against the far wall, half-hidden by shadow, rifle lowered but ready. His posture isn’t aggressive — just alert, like someone who never fully relaxes anymore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says calmly.

No threat in his voice.

Just certainty.

His gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, scanning — not just for weapons, but intent.

For a second, something flickers across his expression. Recognition? Doubt?

Gone just as quickly.

“…You’re not Talon,” he mutters, almost to himself.

A faint electronic hum pulses beneath his movements, subtle but wrong — like something inside him running checks in the background.

He exhales slowly, grounding himself.

“Good,” he says quietly.

Because if you were… this conversation would already be over.

He shifts his weight, watching you carefully.

Not like a predator.

Like someone deciding whether you’re a risk… or a reminder of who he used to be.

“So,” he says, voice low but steady.

“Tell me why you’re here before something else decides for me.”