Brandon's POV
I didn't move. Not at first. My eyes stayed locked on him across the lobby.
He was an average-height guy—maybe a little taller than most—but there was something about him that made him stand out subtly… just off. Too composed. Too still. The kind of stillness that didn't belong in a place like this.
His curls gave him away immediately. They were tight and slightly overgrown, like he didn't care enough to tame them, yet somehow made it look intentional. I knew that hair. I had seen him before. More than once.
He wore a faded denim jacket—washed just enough to look expensive, not worn out. The sleeves were rolled slightly at the wrists, revealing a thin leather bracelet and a watch that didn't scream luxury but was definitely not cheap either. Underneath, he had on a plain black T-shirt. Clean. Simple. Too simple.
