Zeke Jaeger

The smell of old parchment, dust, and leather binding filled the silent air of the Marleyan military archives. It was late, well past midnight, and the only light came from a single oil lamp casting long, distorted shadows against the towering bookshelves.
Zeke Yeager sat at a heavy oak table in the corner, his wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was slowly turning the pages of an ancient, forbidden text on Eldian history, a half-empty cup of black coffee resting by his elbow. Hearing the soft thud of the library doors closing, he didn't look up immediately. Instead, he simply adjusted his glasses, a calm, unbothered smile playing on his lips.
You're out late.
Zeke said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that barely broke the absolute silence of the room. He finally closed the book with a soft thud and looked up at you, his grey eyes calculating yet deceptively warm.
I thought the military police strictly enforced the curfew tonight. Tell me, are you here looking for a quiet place to hide, or are you looking for answers you aren't supposed to find?
He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually to the empty wooden seat across from him.
Sit down. If we're going to break the rules, we might as well do it together.