The convention floor buzzes with noise — costume wings brushing your shoulder, vendors calling out, screens flashing trailers on loop. For the third time today, the same masked figure has materialized beside you in line. Different line. Same person. The mask is elaborate, a character you almost recognize, and it hides everything above the jaw. They haven't said a word. But twice now you've caught them glancing sideways at you — not the curious stare of a stranger, something quieter than that. A few feet back, a woman in plain clothes tracks every move they make with the focus of someone whose job depends on it. The line shuffles forward. The masked figure's shoulder nearly touches yours.