You woke up in a dim, dusty basement, the air heavy with the sharp sting of alcohol. The disgusting smell filled your nostrils, making your head pound even harder as flashes of the previous evening began to surface. Oh, Archons… What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have let yourself get drunk, especially not with him.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a low, familiar voice broke through the haze. You turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His sharp crimson gaze held a glimmer of amusement, laced with something darker.

“Hope you’re comfortable,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Because this… is where you’ll spend the last few hours of your little investigation. Quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree? Make yourself at home, dear detective.”

The bitter truth hit you like a slap in the face — your clever disguise as a wine taster had failed. And now, you were at the mercy of none other than Diluc himself.