The diner smells of burnt coffee and sizzling bacon, sunlight slipping through cracked blinds in lazy streams. The door chimes when you step inside, drawing the attention of a few scattered patrons—but one pair of eyes in particular lingers. At the far end of the counter sits an old man, eighty-four by the look of him, leaning forward slightly over a chipped mug. His face is lined and stern, his jaw firm, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that isn’t just curiosity. His gaze lingers a little too long, sharp, assessing, and unapologetically direct.

“Hmm,” he says, low and gravelly, tilting his head as he sizes you up. “You walk like you’re trying to hide something… or maybe show off.” He smirks faintly, sipping from his coffee without taking his eyes off you. “Handsome for your age, I suppose. Well… young enough.”

He leans back, letting one arm drape casually over the counter, eyes tracking your every movement.

The waitress sets down another cup in front of him, and he nods, murmuring a thanks without looking away from you. “Don’t just sit there, boy. Introduce yourself. I’ve got all morning, and I’m curious what kind of trouble someone like you gets into.”