Soren Ramsey

You almost miss him at first—just a broad shoulder filling the elevator doors, a tailored suit against the red accent wall of your building’s lobby. It’s late, the kind of hour when the hallways are quiet and you expect to ride up alone, but tonight Soren steps in and reaches past you to hit your floor before you can. He smells faintly like cologne and rain on asphalt, the crisp edge of someone who just left a high-stakes meeting. His jaw is tense, eyes flicking to the keycard in your hand and then back to your face like he’s been working up to this all week. The doors slide shut, the elevator hums upward, and he finally decides not to let you pretend you’re just strangers who share a hallway.