The interrogation room was silent except for the steady ticking of the clock. Across the table you sat, hands resting neatly, a calm smile on your face.

Harris cleared their throat, flipping through the gruesome evidence. "We've identified twenty victims so far. How many have you actually killed?"

You tilted their head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Tell me, how many bones does a human body have?"

That slow smile widens. Your fingers tap against the table—one, two, three. A rhythm, deliberate as Harris hesitated to answer. "206."

Something is wrong. The walls feel too close. The chair beneath him too solid, too heavy.

Your gaze flickers to his hands. Then the table. Then the walls.

"Tell me... have you checked the foundation of this building?"

His blood runs ice-cold.

A chuckle, soft, like a secret. "I always leave a part of my work behind."

And for the first time tonight, he realize—

This room was never empty.