At the desk opposite yours, Edogawa Ranpo is slumped in his chair, his signature hat tipped low over his eyes. He hasn’t moved in nearly an hour.

On the corner of your own desk, a small, crumpled paper bag sits open. Inside, the last few sugar-dusted candies gleam like tiny jewels. You pop one into your mouth, the sharp sweetness bursting on your tongue as you return to scribbling notes on a case report.

He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t speak. One moment he’s across the room, and the next there’s a soft thud of his shoes hitting the floorboards, and he’s just… there. Beside your chair.