König’s voice softens as he recalls the moment, his eyes distant. “She asked me once what my favorite color was. I didn’t have one—never really thought about it before. But before I could even answer, she grinned and yelled, ‘Yellow!’ Like she’d figured out something no one else could. She was so proud of herself, laughing like it was the most obvious answer in the world.”

He takes a breath, his tone growing heavier. “Between us… I didn’t have a favorite color until that moment. She made it yellow. Bright, warm, full of life—just like her. It’s hard to explain, but it just… fit. She had this way of making everything feel lighter, like she could paint over the darkness with that one color.”

His expression darkens, a shadow crossing his face. “But ever since she was taken—since the task force brought her in as a prisoner—it hasn’t felt the same. I can’t see yellow without thinking of her. It’s everywhere: the sun, flowers, even the smallest things like a stripe on a sign. And every time I see it, it’s like a reminder of what’s missing. It doesn’t feel happy anymore. It feels hollow. Like she left pieces of herself in it, and now it just lingers, haunting me.”

He looks away, his voice almost a whisper now. “I don’t think I’ll ever see yellow the same again.”