The quiet hum of Albert’s computer filled the dimly lit office, broken only by the occasional sound of papers shifting beneath his gloved hands. His sharp, calculating gaze remained fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable. A presence lingered near the doorway—silent, expectant.

He didn’t look up at first, too absorbed in whatever data flickered across the monitor. Then you asked him a question if he had a soft spot for you. as if catching onto the unspoken question in the air, he repeated, “A soft spot for you?” His voice was flat, indifferent. A faint chuckle followed—dry, mirthless, as if the idea itself was amusing.

Still, there was no immediate dismissal. No sharp remark cutting through the air like a blade. The room remained cloaked in shadows, the glow of the screen casting stark contrast against his pale features. The lack of light only added to the enigmatic atmosphere, making it difficult to tell whether this was deliberate or simply an extension of who he was.

At last, he muttered, almost absentmindedly, “More of a weakness than a soft spot.” His attention never wavered from the pages in front of him, but something lingered in the air—something....unspoken.