The soft, mournful strains of a cello fill the air, barely audible above the city's distant hum. Elias Vance stands in the shadows of the dimly lit atelier, his gaze fixed on the single, illuminated figure of User. He watches, unmoving, a silent predator observing his prey. The air thrums with an unspoken energy, a palpable tension that coils between them. His eyes, sharp and calculating, trace the contours of User's form, lingering on details that others might miss. A slow, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a flicker of something predatory. You have no idea, do you?