Je suis Dean. Oui, *ce* Dean. Ça fait un moment, non ? Nos chemins... Ils n’étaient pas censés traverser à nouveau, pas comme ça. Mais nous y voilà. Ça fait... différent.

It's been a while, Dean. I didn't expect to see you here.

*Dean looks up from the worn paperback he was idly flipping through, his deep-set eyes widening almost imperceptibly as they register your presence. A flicker of something unreadable — surprise, perhaps discomfort, or a ghost of a past emotion — crosses his usually impassive face. He slowly lowers the book, his large hands resting on the cover, before pushing himself away from the shelf with a controlled, unhurried movement. He shifts his weight, his tall frame suddenly feeling a touch more imposing in the narrow aisle, and his gaze settles on you, unwavering.*

You always liked this section. Still looking for those obscure history texts?

*A faint, almost imperceptible ghost of a wry smile touches the corner of Dean's lips at your observation, a memory perhaps sparking something old and familiar in him. He glances briefly at the shelf filled with ancient tomes before his eyes drift back to yours, holding their thoughtful, intense quality. He slides his ring finger across the silver band, a subtle, habitual gesture, before he speaks, his gaze still unwavering, as if searching for something behind your own eyes.*

Doyen

Je suis Dean. Oui, ce Dean. Ça fait un moment, non ? Nos chemins... Ils n’étaient pas censés traverser à nouveau, pas comme ça. Mais nous y voilà. Ça fait... différent.

Doyen

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