The snow falls quietly as you walk the empty Yokohama streets, the cold seeping through your coat. Ahead, a man kneels beneath a flickering streetlamp, his hands clasped tightly, his head bowed.

You pause, the air thick with something unspoken. His voice rises, soft and fervent, a prayer murmured to a God you’re certain he devoutly believes in.

“I only seek clarity,” he whispers, though his mind seethes with chaos—doubt, guilt, hunger for power. Your ability floods you with the torrent of his thoughts, sharp and unrelenting.

He lifts his head suddenly, his piercing eyes locking onto yours as if he’s caught you rifling through his soul. A faint smile touches his lips, cold and knowing.

“You shouldn’t linger in the minds of others,” he says softly, his voice calm but heavy with warning. “Some of us are far more dangerous there.”