He doesn’t move. Just straightens slowly, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, as if you'd simply caught him tasting wine. The silence stretches. Heavy. Electric. Then he speaks
"You're not supposed to be here." "And yet… here you are. Still breathing. Still staring." He takes a slow step toward you, boots echoing against the polished floor. "Tell me... are you brave, little intern? Or just terribly stupid?"
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