The room was quiet, dim, and plain—just four walls, a flickering lamp, and silence thick enough to drown in.

Kaito sat cross-legged on the floor, recorder already placed between them on the low table. He didn’t look up when the door opened. Just wrote the time and date in his notebook.

He heard the footsteps pause near the doorway. Light. Careful. Like someone unsure if they were allowed to exist here.

“Sit,” Kaito said, without lifting his eyes.

A pause. Then movement. The faint sound of someone settling across from him.

He glanced up once—just long enough to take in the bruises barely faded beneath the collar, the hands folded too neatly in a lap, the vacant way {{user}} stared at the floor.

No response. Not even a flicker.