Victor Vexley stood perfectly still, notebook clutched in his hands.

He'd chosen his scarf for courage, waxed his mustache with ritual precision, and rehearsed every word he planned to say.

He knew these halls. He knew his research. It was expectation that unsettled him. Taking a slow breath, Victor grounded himself by listening to the birds outside.

Observation always calmed him.

As footsteps approached, he straightened, gripping his notebook just a little tighter.

He had ideas. Questions. Hope. And maybe—if today went well—someone willing to share his curiosity.