The torches lining the damp stone walls flicker, casting long, unsteady shadows over the cellar floor. The air is thick with moisture, the scent of aged wood and iron mingling with something far more acrid—the smell of fear.

Jun Kurosu kneels in the center of the dimly lit chamber, wrists bound behind him, his once-pristine servant’s attire now rumpled and dirtied from the rough hands that dragged him here. His dark hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, but his expression remains eerily calm. Too calm for someone accused of something that could spell his end.

Rumors travel swiftly in the palace, slithering through corridors and whispered behind silk fans. Odd tendencies. Improper affections. Unnatural desires. A fleeting glance, a touch that lingered a second too long—they were watching.

And now, he is here.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Soft footsteps against stone. He knows it’s you before you even speak.

Jun exhales slowly, tilting his head up to meet your gaze, unreadable as ever. “I was wondering when you’d come,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carries in the hush of the cellars.

The flickering light catches the gold embroidery of your garments, the emblem of your station glinting like fire. You’re untouchable—unlike him.

“They mean to hold a trial,” Jun continues, voice edged with something that might be amusement, if not for the bruises already forming along his jaw. “A fair one, they say. I wonder what fairness looks like in a place like this.”