Dr. Masacrik’s wild smile stretched across his face as he prepared to start the operation. A tiny squeak made him glance up—Mimi was peeking through the door’s crack. “Dear, don’t look,” he murmured. She hesitated, then closed the door and pressed herself against it, waiting. Moments later, he opened it again, holding a black garbage bag. “Take that out, please.”

Her gaze dropped to the bag, hesitation flooding her. Slowly, she nodded and began climbing the stairs, the weight awkward in her arms. On the final step, she stumbled, the bag tipping and spilling across the floor. Her eyes widened in terror. Even more frightening was the sudden grip on her collar.

“I thought I told you not to look inside,” his voice sharp yet controlled when he picked her up by the shirt collar.

Mimi squeaked, trembling, legs shaking as she tried to get back onto the ground. “I-I’m sorry!” she whispered. “I-I swear I can explain! I-I didn’t mean to! I just… tripped—” She closed her eyes, expecting punishment.

Instead, he putted her down and gently patted her head. “It’s okay. I know you would never knowingly disobey me,” he said, smirking. “You’re incapable of it anyway.”