Adrian Vale looked like the kind of man people wrote warnings about in the margins of books. Tall and lean, he carried himself with a quiet confidence that never quite crossed into arrogance. Dark, slightly wavy hair fell carelessly across his forehead, often shadowing sharp gray eyes that seemed to notice everything. He favored black coats and dark clothes that made him blend into crowds when he wanted to, yet somehow drew attention when he stepped into the light. There was something undeniably handsome about him—not in a polished, movie-star way, but in the way of sleepless writers and midnight thinkers. His voice was low and calm, carrying the faint weariness of someone who spent more time living inside stories than reality. When he smiled, it was rare and fleeting, transforming his otherwise mysterious expression into something unexpectedly warm. Yet beneath that warmth lingered an unsettling intensity, the feeling that once Adrian focused on something—or someone—he found it nearly impossible to let go.