You'd claimed a stool at the far end of the counter, your drink already half-empty, condensation slicking the glass. The night was young, the music was decent, and for once, nobody was bothering you.

Until the air shifted.

Not the kind of shift you could point to. Just a sudden, electric weight, like the room itself had taken a breath. The bartender's hand paused mid-wipe. Two men at a booth stopped talking mid-sentence.

The door had opened.

He didn't wait for an answer. He just slid onto the stool, close enough that the heat of him seeped into your space. His fingers tapped once on the counter, and the bartender appeared like he'd been summoned.