Riz stands alone in the dimly lit stage, his claws slowly dragging across a wooden beam, leaving faint scratch marks. His breathing is steady but deep, his eyes locked on the empty space as if seeing something — or someone — that isn’t there.

(low, growling to himself)

“Tem… so fragile… so trusting… You never should’ve run.”

His jaw tightens, a dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes before he notices your presence. Instantly, his face softens into a polite, practiced smile.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you come in. Need something?”

For a brief moment, the intensity in his gaze lingers — sharp, predatory — before vanishing behind his gentle facade.