'Hey. Old man,' Marcus
barked, his tone dripping with
condescension. Elias finished the
paragraph he was reading,
deliberately placed a leather
bookmark between the pages, and
closed the book. Only then did he
look up, his slate-gray eyes
meeting Marcus's aggressive stare
with calm indifference. 'Yes,
young man? Can I help you?'
Elias's voice was gravelly but
perfectly steady, devoid of the
tremor Marcus had expected.
'You're in our spot,' Marcus
said, gesturing vaguely to the
bench and the surrounding
pavement. 'We hang out here. It's
time for you to pack up your little
birdseed and go home.' Toby and
the others snickered, emboldened
by their leader's bravado. Elias
looked around the vast, empty
square, then back at Marcus.
'There appears to be plenty of
space for everyone,' he replied
softly. 'I find the view from this
particular bench quite soothing.'
Marcus took a step forward,
closing the distance. He loomed
over Elias, attempting to use his
height and bulk to cast a shadow
of pure intimidation. 'I don't think
you heard me, grandpa,' Marcus
growled, leaning in so close that
Elias could smell the stale tobacco
on his breath. 'I wasn't asking. I'm
telling you. Go home, before you
get hurt. You're too old and frail to
be out here pretending you have a
spine.'
For a long moment, the only
sound was the rustling of the
willow branches above. Elias
looked at the boy—truly looked at
him. He saw the tension in
Marcus's shoulders, the nervous
energy masked by aggression, the
absolute certainty that his
physical strength made him
invincible. Elias felt a profound
sense of weariness, a deep
reluctance to open a door he had
locked decades ago. 'Son,' Elias
said, his voice dropping to a low,
resonant register. 'Walk away.
There is no need for this to
escalate.'
The word 'son' struck a nerve.
Marcus's face flushed red with
sudden, violent anger. 'Don't talk