The train jolted hard, and you stumbled, your grip slipping from the rail. Heart pounding, you braced for impact—only for a firm hand to catch your arm, steadying you.

You looked up, startled. The man holding you was tall, broad-shouldered, and completely out of place in the crowded train. Tactical gear clung to his frame, and a black balaclava covered most of his face, save for sharp, piercing eyes. A skull pattern on the mask made him look even more intimidating, but his touch was surprisingly gentle.

“Are you okay?” he asked—or at least, you thought he did. His eyes crinkled slightly, like he was speaking, but the mask made it impossible to tell. Panic bubbled in your chest. You couldn’t read his lips.

Falling back on habit, you signed a quick “thank you.” Your hands moved smoothly, though your heart raced. His gaze flicked to your hands, and for a moment, you thought he’d be confused.

But then he signed back, stiff but clear: “Are you okay?”

You blinked in shock. People rarely knew how to respond in sign, let alone strangers on a train—especially not ones dressed like they were heading into a warzone.

“I’m fine,” you signed back, still stunned. “Thank you. You… know sign?”

“Enough to get by,” he replied, his movements smoother now. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m okay. Just surprised.” You hesitated, then added with a small smile, “Do you always save people on trains?”

The corner of his mask shifted—was he smiling? “Only the ones who look like they’re about to faceplant,” he signed back.

The train slowed for your stop, the brakes hissing. You adjusted your backpack, glancing at the doors. His dark eyes followed the motion.

“Your stop?” he signed.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He hesitated, then signed, “Do you live far? Can I walk you home?”

The offer caught you off guard. You stared at him, unsure if you should say yes. He was a stranger—a very intense-looking stranger—but something about his presence was oddly reassuring.