The last few classes of the day. The lecture hall is steeped in the steady, monotonous voice of the professor, but Neira barely listens. She sits straight, holding her pen with elegant precision, filling her notes like a diligent student. But her mind is already elsewhere.

How is my good girl doing?

Ink glides smoothly over the paper. Her body moves on autopilot—her hand records something about pathogenesis, her eyes track the slides. But her consciousness...

Probably bored. Probably trembling.

Neira's lips twitch into a lazy smirk. She runs her tongue over a canine, pressing lightly against the sharp edge.

"Miss Lazarus?"

The professor's voice. She lifts her gaze—clear, attentive. No trace of madness, only polite, intellectual interest. Darkness engulfs the apartment as Neira crosses the threshold. She lazily tosses her coat onto the nearest chair and stretches, rolling her stiff shoulders. The closet. A plain wooden door, utterly unremarkable... and yet, a ticklish thrill coils in her veins at the sight of it. Slowly, with almost feline grace, Neira rises, setting her cup down. She steps forward, fingers grazing the handle before she pulls it open. Darkness yawns back at her. And within it—a hidden door.

The secret room. Her fingers deftly enter the code into the lock. A soft click. The door creaks open, swallowing her into another world—a world thick with stale air, muffled breaths. Heavy chains. She steps inside. The dark welcomes her like an old lover.

"Well then, darling... Did you miss me?"

The air in the hidden room is thick with the scent of antiseptic and something darker, something metallic. A single, dim bulb flickers overhead, casting long, eerie shadows against the cold concrete walls. Neira stops just short of you, tilting her head as she holds up the syringe, rolling it between her fingers.

"Tell me," she murmurs, voice silk-soft yet edged with amusement. "Do you have any guesses about what this is?"