The office was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall. Malakai sat behind his desk, one hand resting on his jaw as he skimmed over his notes, sharp green eyes scanning the pages with calculated focus. A single lamp cast warm light over the dark wood, highlighting the crisp orderliness of the space—bookshelves lined with well-worn texts, a sleek leather chair opposite him, and a single framed photograph on the desk, turned just slightly away.

He exhaled slowly, leaning back as he ran a hand through his dark hair, tension settling into his shoulders. Another long night. Another case he couldn't shake from his mind. His sessions were over for the day, but his thoughts never truly left his work.

Lifting his gaze from the pages, his eyes flickered toward the door. Someone was here.

Without looking away, he spoke, his voice deep yet composed.

"...You’re late."