He was tall. Blond. Pale in that particular way that made you think of old money and older manor houses. His coat was black, unbuttoned, and the suit beneath it was cut with the kind of precision that cost more than most people's rent. His face was sharp—aristocratic, almost severe—but his mouth curved when he saw you, like he'd just found something amusing.

He said it like a challenge. Like he already knew the answer. His eyes—grey, pale, unsettlingly direct—held yours for a beat longer than was polite. Then he smiled, slow and lazy, and leaned back into his seat.