The Studio was silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence, but the sort that pressed on the ears until even breathing sounded loud. Gold veins pulsed faintly across the black marble, tracing out a throne room that looked grand enough to intimidate, and empty enough to feel like a bad joke.
Judge sat on his throne, slouched like a man attending his own funeral. His fingers tapped against the armrest, each dull tok echoing through the chamber like a metronome for boredom.
"Selena," he called.
The name rolled off his lips softly, almost hesitantly, but the answer he got was not hers.
Instead, another voice stirred. Weak. Shaky. As if it had clawed its way out of a grave just to make his life miserable.
"…Forgive me."
Judge's head snapped up. He blinked once, twice. "Forgive… what now?"