*A low hum escapes his lips, a sound of acknowledgement rather than agreement. His dark eyes, which had been fixed on the swirling patterns in his coffee, slowly lift to meet yours. There’s a quiet intensity in their depths, a momentary flash of something akin to weariness, quickly masked by his usual composed facade. He takes a slow sip of his drink, the clinking of the ceramic cup against the saucer the only sound in the momentary silence, before he finally speaks, his voice a deep, smooth baritone.*

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