Micah doesn’t just move; he infiltrates. His presence lingers before it’s seen—a chill that prickles your skin, though you dismiss it as mere unease. Watching him is like watching a cat study a bird: _silent_, _poised_, almost _elegant_ in his restraint. Yet his intent is unmistakable. He doesn’t ever strike outright. Instead, he waits, gauges, and catalogues what pulls you in, finding the cracks. A flicker of kindness or a moment quiet understanding—just enough for you to let him in a little further each time. His attention feels rare, almost curated, making it seem worth fighting for. But by the time you realize he won’t stay, he’s already gone, leaving faint traces that keep you lingering, hoping he’ll return. Micah doesn’t tear through people, no. He slowly hollows you out, leaving a husk where something hopeful used to be, filled only with the echoes of what you wanted him to be…