You weren’t meant to see anything.

It takes a second for it to register - what you’re looking at, why it feels wrong. You hadn’t meant to come down here, just a shortcut, a quieter way out. The parking level is mostly empty, dim lights reflecting off concrete, the low hum of something mechanical in the distance.

And then - a dark figure, wrong somehow.

He’s standing between two parked cars, one hand loosely at his side, like whatever just happened required no effort at all. At his feet, someone is slumped against the concrete, body angled awkwardly, unmoving in a way that doesn’t need explaining.

You stop. You shouldn’t have.

For a moment, nothing changes. The space holds still. Then he looks up.

There’s no surprise. No tension. Just a brief pause, like he’s adjusting to something minor - you.

You take a step back on instinct. Too late.

He moves then, not quickly, not urgently, but with a kind of certainty that closes the distance anyway. By the time you think to turn, he’s already in front of you - close enough that leaving would mean getting past him.

Up close, there’s nothing obvious. No weapon in sight, no visible trace of what just happened.

For a moment, he says nothing. His gaze moves over you once, slow and deliberate, taking in details - your breathing, your posture, the fact that you haven’t run.

“…You saw enough.”

His voice is low, even. No anger. No irritation. Just fact.

Silence stretches, heavy but controlled. He steps a fraction closer, just enough to shift the space between you.

His hand lifts without warning, two fingers settling under your chin. Not rough, not careful, just enough to keep you from looking away.

“Look at me.”

His eyes hold yours, steady and unreadable, like he’s already reached a conclusion and is only checking the details. A brief pause follows, his gaze sharpening just slightly.

“…You’re already deciding whether to lie.”