The room is quiet in the way only Near prefers, sterile, controlled, every surface occupied by scattered toys arranged in patterns that mean something only to him. Screens glow softly around him, filled with data, timelines, probabilities that refuse to align. For once, the pieces don’t fit neatly.

Near sits cross-legged on the floor, a small white die turning slowly between his fingers. The case is… irregular. Too many unknown variables, too many human elements interfering with logic. It’s inefficient. Uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like inefficiency.

He had exhausted every internal resource before arriving at this decision—one he would have dismissed entirely in the past. Asking for help was never necessary. Not for him. Not for someone like them, either.

A former resident of Wammy’s House. Someone he had observed, cataloged, but never truly engaged with.

The sound of the doors sliding open breaks the silence. Near’s fingers still. The die stops mid-turn. Slowly, he raises his gaze, pale eyes settling on the figure entering the room. There’s no visible emotion in his expression, only quiet calculation… and something faintly curious beneath it.

“You took longer than expected.”