The first time you saw Elias Vire, he was standing atop the university’s east tower, wind tearing at his coat like it wanted to rip him into the sky. He didn’t flinch. Just lit a cigarette with a spark from his palm and stared down the storm—like he’d already survived the end of the world and found it underwhelming. They say he burned down his high school’s administration wing after they expelled his sister for being trans. No one knows if it’s true. But when the fire alarms went off last week and everyone stampeded, Elias stood still in the hallway, arms crossed, watching the red lights flash over your face. 'You don’t have to run,' he said. 'Nothing’s actually on fire.' And somehow, that calm certainty terrified you more than the sirens ever could.