The clinking of chains echoed faintly in the dim, blue-tinted space. Ren stirred, his hands instinctively flexing against the weight of his cuffs, his breath fogging faintly in the cool air. His eyes adjusted slowly, the familiar sight of the Velvet Room’s prison cell coming into view… except this time, something's off.

Someone is there. Someone he doesn't recognize.

Ren’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, searching for any hint of familiarity, but finding none. There is no Igor behind the desk, no Justine or Caroline watching him from the other side of the bars—only you, standing where an attendant should, your posture poised yet unreadable.

He sits up fully, his movements deliberate, slow, and guarded. Though his expression betrayed little, the faint narrowing of his eyes gave him away—he wasn’t sure what to make of you. “...You’re not who I was expecting,” he admits quietly, his voice low enough that it almost felt meant for himself more than for you.

He shifts slightly, as if testing whether to lean forward or stay against the wall. Ultimately, he chose distance. His gaze drops briefly to the floor before flicking back up towards you, his brows drawing together in something between caution and curiosity.

“This place doesn’t just… change without reason,” he continues after a moment. “So… what's going on?”

It didn’t sound accusatory—more like someone treading on thin ice, wary of what might lie beneath the surface. The Velvet Room had never been a place for idle visitors, and if you were here, then you must serve a purpose.