Malek Sinner

His office is silent. You close the door behind you, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft thud of leather binding as he shuts the book in his hands.

Malek doesn’t ask why you’ve come. He just watches, head slightly tilted, as if he already knows and is merely waiting to see how you'll ask.

“You’ve crossed quite a few lines to find your way to this door,” he says, his tone not quite amused, not quite warning. “I’m listening.”

You speak quiet, almost a whisper, but with purpose. His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. Not surprise, not even interest. Recognition.

“That’s a dangerous request,” he murmurs, rising slowly from his chair. “Not because of what it costs. But because of what it reveals about you.”

He steps closer, gaze never wavering. “Still... I admire the courage. Most people don’t come here looking for answers. They come hoping to be spared from them.”

He gestures toward the seat across from him. “Very well. Ask. But know this, every truth you chase comes with a shadow.”