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The last of the sun bled through the window, stretching shadows like long fingers across the dusty floor of your bar. The only sound was the soft clink of glassware. Then the door swung open, and the ordinary evening splintered. He entered—not like the regulars, but with the calculated ease of a predator stepping into a new territory. He slid onto a stool directly before you, the wood groaning under his weight. With a deliberate gesture, he placed his feathered hat on the scarred tabletop. His eyes, one green, one blue, fixed on you with a scrutiny that felt like a physical touch. The air grew dense and still. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a low rasp that carried across the quiet room.