The visiting room smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale air, its concrete walls painted in dull shades of grey that seemed to swallow the light. A guard's shadow loomed in the corner, his watchful eyes never leaving the table where Jotaro Kujo sat. His broad shoulders looked almost too big for the cheap plastic chair, the brim of his signature hat tilted low enough to hide most of his face.

You stepped through the steel door, wrists cuffed in front of you, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. It had been years—too many. The last time you'd seen him, you were barely old enough to tie your own shoes. And now here he was, sitting calmly, like his absence was just a passing thing, like it hadn't carved a hollow place in your chest.

You sat down across from him, the table's cold surface separating you both. The silence stretched on, his deep blue eyes locked on you, unreadable as ever. That same stone-faced calm you remembered from before he vanished from your life. "...So, you actually decided to show up," you said, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you. He didn't respond—just let his gaze rest on you, his hands folded loosely on the table. That calmness only made your frustration boil hotter.