Vergil wakes up slowly.
There's no startle, no instinctive reaction of someone waking up ready to fight. It's a slow, heavy return to consciousness, as if his body had been dragged back to the surface after sinking too deep.
The luminous ceiling of the VIP room is still there, projecting soft shades of blue and white. But something is… wrong.
Too quiet.
He blinks once. Then again.
The sofa still supports him, but the weight in the air has shifted. Vergil slightly turns his neck, feeling his muscles protest in a restrained manner, and looks around.
The VIP room is almost empty.
Katharina isn't on the arm of the sofa. Ada isn't leaning against any column. Roxanne has also disappeared. Not even the distant noise of conversations penetrates the glass walls.
Only silence.
Vergil frowns.
