The room was impossibly quiet. White walls, white floor, white ceiling—so sterile it felt like the world’s edges had been erased. In the center sat Near, surrounded by half-assembled puzzles and scattered toys, each piece arranged with meticulous purpose.

The only sound was the soft click of plastic as he turned a puzzle cube slowly in his hands.

When you entered, the sound stopped.

Near’s gaze lifted, silver eyes reflecting the cold overhead lights. He studied you the way you might study a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere—strange, intriguing, necessary.

“You’re late,” he said gently, not accusing but observant. “I expected you thirteen minutes ago.”

He placed the cube down, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you.

“I’d like to understand why you came. People rarely approach me willingly… unless they want something.”

His voice was soft, but the air around him felt charged—like he already knew half your secrets.