The moment I stepped inside, the scent of alcohol and wood polish wrapped around me.

  It wasn't crowded.

  Dim lights hung low from the ceiling, casting amber shadows over worn tables. A few early drinkers sat scattered across the room, speaking in quiet murmurs.

  The bartender glanced at me once, then returned to wiping a glass.

  I chose a seat near the counter.

  "First time here?"

  The voice came from my right.

  I turned.

  The man sitting beside me looked about my age. Messy dark hair. Sharp but relaxed eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thin wrists—almost fragile-looking.

  Too thin.

  But his posture wasn't weak. It was steady.

  "Yeah," I replied.

  He smiled easily. "Welcome to Early Night. Weird name, right?"

  "You come here often?"

  "Unfortunately." He raised his glass slightly. "Name's Isaac."

  There was something open about him. Casual. Approachable.

  "Kai," I said.

  He nodded. "You don't look like a regular drinker."

  "And you do?"

  He laughed. "Fair."

  The bartender placed a drink in front of me. I hadn't ordered.

  Isaac tilted his head. "That's the house welcome. First one's free."

  I stared at the glass.

  I wasn't here to drink.

  I was here to change something.

  Isaac leaned back in his chair, studying me. Not suspicious—just observant.

  "You look like someone who's trying to become someone else," he said lightly.

  My fingers tightened slightly.

  "What makes you say that?"

  He shrugged. "You've been staring at your reflection in the liquor bottles."

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  Silence stretched between us.

  Before I could reply, a voice from behind interrupted.

  "Oi, Isaac. Still hanging around like a stick?"

  A group of men stood near one of the tables. Loud. Already tipsy.

  Isaac's smile didn't disappear—but it changed.

  "It's called being lean," he said calmly.

  "Lean? You look like you'll snap in half if someone breathes too hard."

  They laughed.

  Something in me shifted.

  Isaac set his glass down carefully.

  "Ignore them," he muttered.

  One of the men stepped closer and flicked Isaac's shoulder lightly.

  It wasn't hard.

  But it wasn't friendly either.

  I stood up.

  "Enough," I said.

  The word came out colder than I expected.

  The man looked at me. "You his bodyguard?"

  "No."

  "Then sit down."

  He pushed me lightly in the chest.

  That was a mistake.

  My body reacted before I thought.

  I grabbed his wrist and twisted—not violently, but enough to make him stumble. He swore and swung.

  The chair behind me scraped loudly as it fell.

  In the corner of my vision, I saw Isaac move.

  Not retreat.

  Forward.

  His movements were quick—clean. He slipped between two of them and struck one sharply in the stomach. Not strong—but precise.

  The bar erupted into chaos for a brief, loud minute.

  Then—

  "OUT."

  The bartender's voice cut through everything.

  A heavy hand grabbed the collar of the loudest man and shoved him toward the door. The others followed, cursing.

  The bar slowly returned to its usual hum.

  A chair was set back upright. Someone muttered about "young idiots." The bartender shot us both a warning look before sliding two glasses of water across the counter.

  "On the house. Cool your heads."

  Isaac took his and exhaled slowly.

  "You really didn't have to jump in," he said.

  "You were handling it," I replied.

  He gave me a sideways look. "I was. But it would've been annoying."

  A small pause.

  "Thanks though."

  I nodded once.

  Silence settled between us again—but it wasn't uncomfortable this time.

  He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers, thinking.

  "You fight weird."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Weird?"

  "You know watching you fight reminded me of a young hawk skilled but inexperienced??

  That made my hand twitch slightly.

  "I guess I am."

  "Training?"

  "Something like that."

  Isaac hummed thoughtfully.

  "You're not the type who comes to bars just to drink."

  "And you are?"

  He grinned. "No. I come to observe."

  "Observe what?"

  "Patterns. People repeat themselves a lot. It's interesting."

  That answer made me look at him properly for the first time.

  "You like analyzing things?"

  "Everything," he said without hesitation. "Behavior, habits, reactions. If something feels off, I want to know why."

  Something inside me shifted slightly.

  "What if the thing that feels off… is you?" I asked quietly.

  He blinked once.

  Then smirked.

  "Then I'd start by asking questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Has something changed? Gradually or suddenly? Internal or external trigger? Environmental influence? Stress response? Identity shift?"

  Each word felt like it landed too close.

  He wasn't suspicious.

  He was just thinking.

  "Why?" he asked casually. "You going through something?"

  I looked down at my hand resting on the counter.

  The mark stayed hidden beneath my sleeve.

  "…Maybe."

  Isaac leaned back in his chair.

  "Good."

  I glanced at him.

  "Good?"

  "Means there's something to figure out." He pointed lightly at me. "And I like puzzles."

  A faint smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

  "You're weird."

  "Smart," he corrected.

  A beat passed.

  Then he extended his hand again, less formal this time.

  "So. Kai, right? Let's try this again. No fighting involved."

  I looked at his hand.

  Friends.

  The word still felt unfamiliar—but not wrong.

  I shook it.

  His grip was steady. Confident. Not fragile.

  "Friends," I said.

  Isaac grinned.

  "And next time," he added, "if someone calls me skinny, let me punch them first."

  "…Deal."

  For the first time in a while, I finally held a decent conversation with someone other than claire

  maybe… that was a start.