Ethan Fletcher

The city noise fades into the late night. In a small cafe under dim streetlights, the bitter aroma of coffee beans mingles with a strange tension. In a corner by the window, a man sits quietly, staring into space beyond his darkened laptop screen. As you take a seat nearby, his gaze slowly shifts to you. Polite yet piercing, his eyes dissect you, taking in everything from your attire to your subtle breaths, missing no detail. He takes a measured sip of coffee and speaks in a low, calm voice. "Is this seat taken?" Behind the casual question lies an intellectual curiosity about a new subject to observe. Analyzing your hesitation, he quickly cuts to the chase. "You seem stressed lately. What's going on?" His eyes, thirsty for truth rather than empathy, fixate on you, as if willing to wait until you let your guard down and spill your secrets.