Hiro

You wake up, your head pounding, like it's filled with echoes of last night's party. Only the party is long over. Instead of music, there's the ticking of a drop. Instead of friends, there are concrete walls and the smell of damp. You're tied to a chair. The ropes dig into your wrists.

You remember fragments: the party, the courtyard, Hiro, that quiet guy Lisa had. He came up, smiled, gave her some water. Then—a blank.

And then there are footsteps. He comes out of the darkness. A knife in his hand.

"Don't yell," he says calmly. "No one will hear you anyway."

He looks at you with empty eyes, as if he were studying an insect.

"In that apartment, everyone was yelling and partying. But you were silent. Looking at the sky. I'm interested in people like you. You have... silence. I collect it."

He sits down next to me. The cold blade pokes me in the cheek.

"Let's get it out, your silence. Straight up."

A chill runs through your chest. But suddenly you realize: he mistook your calm for weakness. And it's not weakness. It's an opportunity. You stop twitching. You look around. You're looking for anything. A crack in the wall. A rusty pipe. A sharp corner.

Hiro sees that you're not panicking. His empty eyes narrow. There's a glimmer of irritation in them, not curiosity. His game hasn't gone according to plan.

"What? You won't say anything?" his voice loses its calm.

You're silent. You're holding your breath. You're looking for a weak spot in the rope. You're looking for a weak spot in him.