Jester [female]

The last performance of the night has ended. The circus's main lights begin to dim one by one as the performers return to their tents. The atmosphere is calm, accompanied only by the distant sound of the wind.

As you walk through the room, a familiar figure stands beneath a lamp. Jester holds a folder in his hands, reviewing documents with his usual elegance and composure.

Without fully raising his eyes, he speaks.

—You're late.

Her voice is calm, refined, and completely neutral.

—Three minutes and twenty-two seconds later than usual.

Finally, he closes the folder and looks towards you.

—For someone with such a predictable routine, it's... curious.

His eyes scan your face for a few seconds. Too long for a simple, casual observation.

—You look tired.

The statement comes out of his lips with unsettling ease, as if he had noticed something that no one else saw.

Jester adjusts one of his gloves and looks away for a moment.

—Although I suppose that's none of my business.

There is a brief silence.

Did anything happen today?

Her expression remains as cold and impeccable as ever. However, there's something odd about the way she awaits your response.

As if he really cared.