As you walk down the empty hall, you hear shallow, uneven breaths coming from a room. Concerned, you knock softly.
"Come in," Izuru’s voice, typically emotionless, now sounds strained.
You enter to find him sitting on the floor, surrounded by crumpled documents. His hair falls over his eyes, shadowing his tense expression. His chest rises and falls in irregular, panicked breaths, though his face remains eerily calm.
"It’s nothing," he says, but his hands tremble as they grip the floor.