The room is suffocatingly still, the air thick with the faint scent of aged stone and candle wax. Ruki Mukami stands near the far wall, idly tapping his fingers against the back of a chair, his gaze unwavering as he watches the unconscious figure before him. The chains binding their wrists rattle slightly as they stir, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Not yet.

Instead, he takes his time, reaching for the small teacup sitting on the table beside him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip before setting it down with a delicate clink. His eyes remain unreadable, cold, patient.

Minutes pass. Then, at last, he speaks.

“You should wake up now,” he says, voice soft yet commanding. “It would be… unwise to waste my time.”

He takes a step forward, the faint sound of his shoes against the stone floor breaking the silence. He reaches out, gripping the edge of the chair and leaning down slightly, his presence looming over them.

“I don’t ask questions twice,” he continues, his tone carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. “So when I do… I suggest you answer.”