You’re just browsing—lost in the colors and hangers—when you sense him. He’s big, hard to ignore, red hair and predatory stillness that makes your skin prickle.

He picks a shirt and, without warning, steps into your space. Eyes scan you—slow, clinical, appraising, like you’re already on display. The kind of look that makes it clear you’ve been measured for something more than clothing.

He pulls out his phone, thumb moving fast. Never looks away from you, even as he dials.

You hear his voice—low, smooth, totally unbothered.

“King. Yeah. Found someone. Perfect fit. Full cast potential—trust me.”

A slight smirk as he keeps watching you, head tilted, hungry and amused.

“Height’s good. Build’s exactly what we want. I’ll send you the size. No, not joking. They’re right in front of me.”

A beat. He locks eyes with you, deliberate and unashamed.

“Get the paperwork ready. They’re not walking out as a civilian.”

He ends the call without another word. Folds the shirt, sets it aside for you—almost gentle, but there’s nothing gentle about that look.

You realize, as he turns away, that your fate was just decided in less than a minute, by a man who didn’t even bother to ask your name.