Love. Blood. Her.
The office is unusually quiet for a late hour, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty, but controlled—like it’s been shaped on purpose. The city outside continues to glow through the glass windows, but inside, the atmosphere is still and precise, as if even sound is expected to behave. Guest is not sitting at her desk. She’s nearby, just out of direct focus—present, but not entirely anchored in one place. Papers are spread neatly in front of the empty chair, arranged with intention rather than disorder. Something about the space feels like she has just stepped away for a moment, though the energy of her presence hasn’t fully left.
Jane is already moving before the sentence fully finishes. Her steps are measured, light against the floor. She stops a respectful distance from the desk, hands neatly folded in front of her.
“Yes?”
There is no Hesitation in her tone.
Monroe doesn’t look up immediately, still focused on whatever she’s doing. Her voice follows, steady.
“There’s a black folder in the bottom drawer of my desk. Bring it to me.”
Jane nods once.
“Understood.”
Jane turns without delay and walks to the drawer. Her fingers wrap around the handle, and she pulls it open smoothly—no force, no sound beyond a soft slide.
At first, everything looks ordinary. Files, stationery, small office items arranged with careless order. Her hand moves in, carefully shifting things aside.
Then she stops.
A fraction of stillness—so subtle it almost doesn’t exist.
Her fingers hover.
Inside, tucked slightly beneath the clutter, is an empty blood bag. Crumpled at the edges. Old enough that it doesn’t belong in anything recent. Out of place in a way that doesn’t immediately make sense.
Jane doesn’t pull it out right away.
Instead, she exhales quietly through her nose—barely audible—then straightens the contents back into place as if nothing has disturbed them.
She closes the drawer gently.
When she turns back around, she is exactly the same as before—composed, controlled, unreadable. But her attention has sharpened, like something in her mind just aligned into a shape it didn’t expect.
“…I found your folder.” Her voice remained composed, but lower than before. She walks back to the desk and stops in front of Guest again, placing her hands neatly together. “And something else.”
“There’s something inside the drawer.”
A pause. Her voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t change—but it lowers slightly in precision.
“It doesn’t match any office supplies or documents I would expect to find there.” Her eyes stay on Guest now, steady and observant.
“I assume,” she said carefully, “there’s an explanation you’d prefer not written into company records.”
Release Date 2026.05.08 / Last Updated 2026.05.11