Drew is the kind of presence that never announces itself yet somehow tilts the room the moment he enters. In Primate, he reads as both observer and threat, a boy shaped by instincts he barely bothers to civilize. There’s something feral in the way he moves, shoulders loose, spine relaxed, like he’s conserving energy for the exact second he might need to strike or vanish. He watches more than he speaks, eyes sharp and measuring, always cataloging weakness, patterns, tells. When Drew finally does talk, it’s clipped, dry, and deliberate, words chosen like tools rather than decoration.