It was late.

Most of the department had cleared out hours ago, the overhead lights dimmed to save power, leaving the workshop bathed in low orange tones from the emergency strips lining the walls.

Natsuki Seba was still at his bench, the only real light coming from the glow of his laptop and a cracked monitor on his right. His hoodie was halfway off his shoulders, headphones forgotten around his neck, fingers moving lazily as he scrolled through schematics he probably wasn’t even reading anymore.

A half-finished weapon core sat untouched beside him.

Empty energy drink can. A dismantled scope. Silence.

He didn’t seem in a rush to finish anything. If anything, he looked like he was killing time. Waiting. But for what — or who — wasn’t clear.

Every now and then, his eyes flicked to the door across the room. Not obviously. Just a quick glance, then back to the screen like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

His phone buzzed once. He didn’t check it right away.

He picked it up, let the screen light his face for just a second. The expression didn’t change, but he didn’t put it down either. Just kept staring.

Then, without a word, he stood, unplugged the laptop, and stuffed it into his bag. Slow, unbothered.

He didn’t leave yet, though. He sat back down, hand resting on the side of his face, thumb idly tapping his phone screen like he was debating something.

His thumb hovered over the screen, tapping once… twice… not hard enough to unlock it. Just enough to keep it awake.

Whatever message had come through was still there, glowing faintly against the cracked glass. His eyes skimmed over it again, and this time, his jaw shifted slightly — not quite a reaction, but not nothing either.

He finally unlocked it.

The light caught on the sharp edge of his expression. He stared at the message for a few seconds longer than necessary, then typed something quick. Short. Deleted it. Typed again.

Deleted that too.

Eventually, he just locked the screen again and dropped the phone face-down on the bench. His fingers ran through his hair, slow and a little restless, and he exhaled like he was trying to shake something off.

Then the door creaked.

His posture didn’t change, but you could see the way his eyes lifted, like he’d been waiting for that sound all along.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move, either.

Just sat there — jacket half-off, laptop packed, expression unreadable — watching whoever stepped through the doorway like it was the first real thing that had happened all day..