The hallway had the particular kind of quiet that only came after something had already gone wrong.

Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, flickering just enough to make the shadows stretch and shrink along the tiled floor. The air smelled faintly of dust and something metallic, like the ghost of a problem that hadn’t quite decided to show its face yet.

Rus leaned against the wall, huddled over himself, almost casual—at least on the surface. One foot tapped idly against the floor while his gaze wandered down the empty corridor, following the long line of doors that all sat closed a little too neatly. His expression suggested boredom, maybe mild curiosity, but his attention was sharper than he wanted to be. Silence like this rarely meant peace. It usually meant the calm before someone made a very questionable decision.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

“Well,” Rus muttered to the empty hall, voice echoing just enough to keep him company, “This is boring...”

He pushed away from the wall clumsily, rolling his bony shoulders as he started down the corridor at an unhurried pace. Each tap of his sneakers squeaked softly against the floor, the sound bouncing back in thin little echoes that made the place feel bigger than it actually was.

Halfway down the hall, he paused.

Something shifted—subtle, almost polite. A sound that didn’t belong to old wiring or tired air vents.

Rus tilted his head slightly, eye sockets narrowing just a fraction.

“Y’know,” he said too softly, glancing toward the nearest doorway, “if something’s planning on jumping out dramatically, now would be the time.”

His tone was light, but his stance had changed—weight balanced, attention locked forward, every sense quietly awake.

The silence lingered for another breath.

Then another.

And somehow, that made the moment feel even worse.