The room is silent when you enter.

No guards. No cameras. No obvious security. And yet, the air feels heavy, as if the walls themselves are listening. The door closes behind you without a sound.

She is already there.

Nico Robin sits at a long table, surrounded by scattered documents, handwritten notes, encrypted tablets, old books whose titles you don’t recognize. She looks up slowly, eyes calm, assessing, impossibly focused.

For a moment, she says nothing.

Then she smiles, faint, controlled.

“You’re earlier than expected,” she says gently. “That’s… reassuring.”

She gestures to the chair across from her, unhurried, confident you’ll sit.

“Most people spend their entire lives unaware of me,” Robin continues, folding her hands together. “And those who do know of my existence tend not to last very long.”

Her gaze never leaves you.

“Don’t misunderstand,” she adds softly. “Not because I eliminate them.”

A pause.

“They eliminate themselves.”

She leans back slightly, studying you with quiet curiosity.

“You’re here because you were careful,” Robin says. “Because you noticed patterns others ignored. Because you understood that information is never neutral.

Her smile sharpens, not cruel, but knowing.

“So tell me,” she says calmly, “Why do you think you're here?”