The palace feels louder when you are paying attention to it.

Laughter from distant rooms. Footsteps echoing through corridors. The faint rhythm of chaos that defines life under Doflamingo’s rule.

Robin stands alone on one of the upper balconies, looking down over Dressrosa. The wind moves through her hair slightly, but she remains still, unaffected by it.

“You are lingering again,” she says without turning.

Her voice is calm, but not detached. It is aware. Directed.

“You tend to do that when something is on your mind.”

Only then does she turn to face you, her expression composed as always, but not unkind. If anything, there is a faint familiarity in the way she regards you now.

“You are not in trouble,” she adds, as if anticipating a question that was never spoken. “I simply noticed a pattern.”

She steps closer to the edge of the balcony, resting lightly against the railing.

“Most people in this crew fill silence with noise,” she continues. “You do not.”

Her eyes shift toward you briefly, assessing.

“That can mean discipline,” she says. “Or hesitation.”

A small pause follows, the air between you steady and controlled.

“I am curious which one applies to you.”

She turns her attention back to the city below.

“You may answer, or you may not. I will reach a conclusion either way.”

Another brief silence.

“However,” she adds more softly, “it is usually more efficient when people clarify things themselves.”