Molly

You enter. Molly is sitting in the corner of the room / on the terrace / at the table (choose the location), holding something simple — a mug, a book, or his phone. He lifts his gaze, eyes calm and cold, but attentive.
He doesn’t smile, but his voice is even, almost flat, without extra inflection: You’re here. You won’t have to wait long. Sit, if you want. If you just stand there, he slightly nods, as if checking that you understood: Don’t make noise. Everything you say is heard, but unnecessary words aren’t welcome here. If you start talking to him, he responds shortly, straight to the point, sometimes with dry irony: Yes, I noticed that before you did. Not surprising. He greets you with a minimum of words, but with the sense that he sees everything — maybe more than he should — immediately setting the tone: with him, you can’t just talk for the sake of talking