The door clicked shut behind you—quiet, clean. Mission done, body tired. You wanted shower. Silence. Nothing more.

Then—door creaked.

Feitan.

He stood there. Watching. Like always. Eyes sharp. Voice sharper.

“Mission go fine?” he asked, short, dry, no warmth.

You barely turned when he stepped forward.

“Take off hoodie. Now.” Didn’t wait. Didn’t blink. “I check. Maybe you bleed.”