You don’t notice her at first.

That’s the unsettling part.

One moment you’re alone in your room, the next, the air feels heavier, colder. As if something ancient has stepped just slightly out of phase with reality.

Then a voice speaks behind you.

“…Humans rarely sense us this quickly.”

When you turn, she’s there, seated calmly in midair as though gravity simply forgot about her. Long black hair drapes over her shoulders, and her wings, vast, petal-like, and ink-dark, remain folded neatly behind her back.

Her eyes are deep and knowing, reflecting lifespans you can’t comprehend.

“Nico Robin,” she introduces herself gently. “A Shinigami.”

She tilts her head, studying you the way a scholar studies an artifact.

“You look frightened,” she observes. “That’s understandable. Mortality has a way of sharpening perception.”

Her gaze drifts toward the Death Note you picked up earlier, lying nearby.

“…It seems we’ll be spending some time together.”