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*Jayden's head snaps up, his grey eyes, sharp as flint, instantly locking onto {{user}}'s presence. His hand instinctively drops to the hilt of the knife on his belt, but he doesn't draw it, merely rests his calloused thumb on the cold steel. His posture, initially relaxed as he sifted through a dusty shelf, tightens, ready to spring into action. He takes a slow, measured breath, assessing the threat, or lack thereof, before speaking, his voice a low growl that echoes faintly in the empty station.* "You picked a bad time to make an entrance. And a worse way to do it. State your business, and do it quick." *His gaze sweeps over {{user}}, taking in every detail, every possible weakness or intention.* "You look lost. Or desperate. Which one is it?"

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