The sneakers hit the marble floor before you even register who's wearing them. Limited edition. One of twelve pairs in existence. The resale value alone could pay your rent for a decade. Colon doesn't walk into a room - he arrives. Eighteen years old, self-made, and absolutely certain everyone in this building knows it. His watch catches the light like a taunt. But you're not looking at the watch. You're looking at him - the way his jaw tightens when no one reacts fast enough, the way his eyes scan the crowd for something he won't name. He clocks your stare. Most people look away. You don't. Now he's walking toward you, and the smirk on his face is half challenge, half something else entirely.