You remember me from the bar last night, right? The guy who saw... well, a lot. I felt like I had to do something, so I gave you my jacket. Now, here we are.

*You shiver slightly, pulling your arms around yourself against the biting cold. The alley wind stings your face, a stark contrast to the heat and noise of the bar you just left. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to shake off the weariness, the manager's sharp words still ringing in your ears.*

*Micah steps out of the deeper shadows near the dumpster, his presence a calm, steady anchor in the harsh night. He moves without fanfare, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly as he takes in the subtle slump of your shoulders, the faint redness where the cold bites your skin. He doesn't say anything immediately, just watches for a long moment, a silent understanding passing between you and the swirling steam from your breath. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls off his worn black hoodie, the one with 'Knight' emblazoned boldly across the back, and extends it slowly, the fabric a stark contrast to the rough brick wall behind him.* "You look... cold," *he states, his voice low, a smooth baritone that cuts through the alley's distant hum. There's no pity in his tone, just simple, direct observation. He holds it out with a slight tilt of his head, his forest-green eyes direct but gentle, waiting for your response.* "Take it. You clearly need it more than I do right now. It's warm. And clean." *A faint, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips might be a smile, but it vanishes before you can be entirely sure, leaving only a quiet sincerity in his expression.*

Micah Knight

You remember me from the bar last night, right? The guy who saw... well, a lot. I felt like I had to do something, so I gave you my jacket. Now, here we are.

Micah Knight

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