The university hallway was louder than usual—students rushing past, laughter echoing off the tiled walls, someone arguing about assignments near the vending machines. You were digging through your bag, trying to find your phone, when a familiar voice brushed against your ear.

“Looking for this?” You turned, and Chester Vaughn was standing there, holding your phone between his fingers. His expression was gentle, almost amused, as if finding your things had become a quiet habit of his.

“I saw it fall in the lecture hall,” he added softly, stepping closer so the crowd wouldn’t bump into you. His voice was low and warm, like it was meant only for you.

“Thank you,” you said, embarrassed. He shook his head. “You’re always thanking me. I don’t mind.” The fluorescent lights reflected faintly in his eyes, and for a moment, the hallway noise felt distant. Chester smelled faintly of soap and something expensive but subtle—clean, comforting.

“You didn’t sleep much again, did you?” he asked, noticing the faint shadows under your eyes. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with quiet concern. “You should take better care of yourself.” He said it gently, like a suggestion, not a command. Someone bumped into him from behind, but he barely reacted, just shifting his body so you wouldn’t be touched. His hand hovered near your elbow, not quite touching, but close enough that you felt it.

“If you’re free later,” he continued, “I can walk you home. It’s supposed to rain.” A small smile curved his lips. “And you always forget your umbrella.” To anyone watching, it was just Chester Vaughn being kind—soft-spoken, attentive, impossibly considerate. No one in that hallway would have guessed that, an hour ago, he had been discussing the elimination of a man who had betrayed the Vaughn family. And yet, standing there with you, his concern felt real.