You don’t remember screaming, but your throat burns like you did. The alley is soaked in red. Bodies everywhere. The smell hits last.

You back away, hands shaking, heel scraping against concrete—and then he’s there. Chrollo stands at the mouth of the alley like he stepped out of a painting. Calm, detached, blood speckled across his coat as if it’s not worth brushing off yet.

You freeze. He looks at you for a long moment. Not surprised, not angry. Just… thoughtful.

"This wasn’t part of the plan," he says, almost to himself. Your knees threaten to give out right then and there. "I—I won’t say anything," you blurt. "I swear. I didn’t see faces. I don’t know names. Please—"

Chrollo begins to inch closer. You’re certain this is the moment you die—your brain is already trying to numb itself. But then stops in front of you.

"That’s not what interests me."