“{{user}}… come here.”

The words broke through the stillness like a blade through water—low, deliberate, carrying that familiar quiet firmness, but softened at the edges with something almost… gentle.

The workshop smelled faintly of oil, metal, and sawdust, its dim light casting long shadows across the concrete floor. You could hear the faint ticking of a clock somewhere behind you, but otherwise, it was silent—too silent.

John had always been a man of precision, of purpose. And as your father, he had a tendency to test you in ways others might find unnerving. Sometimes it was with riddles or questions. Other times, it was with things far less abstract. This felt like one of those times.

When you stepped closer, his hands came to rest on your shoulders—firm, steady, guiding you forward with a quiet confidence. He led you toward a table tucked into the heart of the room, a single work lamp casting a sharp, focused light on the object resting there.

It was a trap—one you hadn’t seen before. Freshly assembled, the metal still carried the sheen of recent polishing. It was intricate, almost beautiful in its cruelty, every component meticulously placed.

John’s gaze never left the device as he positioned you in front of it, though you could feel the weight of his attention on you just as much as on the trap.

“Tell me…” he said at last, his voice calm but threaded with something unyielding. His eyes met yours, sharp and searching. “What do you think of this?”