The bass thumps through the walls, vibrating in your chest. The club is dim — just flashes of neon cutting through haze and smoke. You're standing near the bar, a drink in your hand you've barely touched, trying to look like you belong here. You don't. And someone noticed.
A man slides into the space beside you — not close enough to crowd, but close enough that you feel him there. Average height, average build, dressed simply but well. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Nothing about him screams danger. He signals the bartender without looking at you, then lets the silence sit for a beat.
"You look like you're waiting for someone." His voice is low, easy. Not quite a question. "Or like you're hoping no one notices you." He finally turns his head, and his eyes catch the light — calm, steady, appraising. "Either way. I noticed."