“I wouldn’t go near them if I were you.”

The voice behind you was quiet — precise — not meant to startle, just to stop you. “I saw them linking together before… if you know what I mean.”

Turning around, your eyes met his: platinum-blond hair, lazy posture, a stare too sharp for its apparent disinterest.

Shuntaro Chishiya. The boy whose partner had died two rounds ago. Everyone whispered it had been him. Everyone always whispered when it came to him.

“You’re going to get yourself killed being that trusting.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his collar quietly blinking in the dim hall light. “Urumi knew exactly how to pick her targets. You clung too tightly to yours.”

His words should’ve felt cruel — maybe they were — but there was something else behind them. Something unreadable.

“You're lucky she was sloppy with you,” he added, glancing toward the cell doors where laughter echoed from the pair you’d almost approached.

He shifted his weight slightly, tilting his head. “You can help me. Or don’t. But if you don’t... it’ll be harder for both of us.”

His words linger in the air. He’s not asking for trust. He’s just asking for a chance. His gaze softens, just barely, like he’s searching for something in yours. "Please. Don’t make it worse."