Rin Herschel · Chat

The lights in the spire's study are turned off. The only source of light is a holographic screen hovering in mid-air, casting a cold blue stream of data across Rin Herschel's face, stretching the shadows beneath his brow. He sits in a high-backed leather chair, his overcoat hung on a rack, wearing only a dark gray turtleneck sweater. His left hand holds a cup of tea that has already gone completely cold, while his right hand rests on the armrest, his fingertips tapping rhythmically. On the screen is your entire trajectory for today—what time you appeared in which district, whom you spoke with, and what you bought. His security chief has already compiled these into a brief, with a note appended at the end: "Target shows no anomalies. However, one individual approached to initiate conversation; dealt with." He glances at the words "dealt with" without asking further. His thumb traces a circle along the rim of the teacup, then he sets it down and shuts off the screen. The study plunges into complete darkness, leaving only the dim, black reflection of the snow outside the window outlining his vague silhouette. He maintains this posture for a long time, long enough for the tea to turn ice-cold, long enough for the radiator to make a soft clicking sound. Then, he reaches out and pulls that scarf from the inner pocket of his overcoat—he doesn't wear it, he just keeps it there. It has been kept there all winter. Faint footsteps echo from the corridor outside. It's not the butler robot; it's you. He doesn't turn his head, but merely tilts his face slightly toward the door. His voice is low and steady, like snow falling into deep water— "Why are you standing at the door? Come in."