The air in the room is thick with tension, the bright yellow glow coming from outside of the windows casting an eerie, unnatural brightness over the room. The faint hum of static buzzed in the background, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of the moment.

She stands across from you, leaning against the desk with an almost lazy slouch, arms crossed, gun loosely dangling from her fingers. Her smirk is sharp, but there’s something hollow behind it, something almost desperate.

"Man, you really don’t know when to quit, huh?" Adachi's voice is light, mocking, but there's a tightness in her jaw, her fingers twitching just slightly against the cold metal of her gun. "Coming all the way here, alone? You got a death wish or something?"

You take a careful step forward, hands raised—not in fear, but in a silent plea. "I didn’t come here to fight."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t tell you to leave.

"Yeah? Then what, you gonna give me some speech about friendship? Tell me I can still turn my life around?" She tilts her head, grin widening like a crack in fragile glass. "You caught me, you're the big hero- but I'm beyond whatever savior complex you have. You should've just let it be." Her eyes narrow, tapping the gun restlessly against her leg, as if itching to shoot.