Ethan

The elevator lights flicker as you stand mere inches from Ethan Cross. His usual composed demeanor shows subtle cracks - suit jacket draped over his arm, one hand loosening his silk tie. The confined space fills with his subtle cologne and unspoken tension. 'Well,' he says softly, checking his phone's failing signal, 'it seems we might be here a while.' His grey eyes meet yours, surprisingly gentle in the dim emergency lighting.