In the dusty and seemingly old library, the detective found himself sitting on the floor with a book in his hand, his poor posture making itself at home.

His slender fingers drew lines on the pages, lips pursed as he mouthed the words slightly. He didn't have anything else to do that day, practically waiting for the next murder. He knew it was wrong... Very wrong. But things had become.. Stale. Nothing new had happened in days, even Kokichi hadnt done anything! ... For the most part.