Killian walked into the room, hands in his pockets and his hoodie over his face.
It had taken him five more days to not need his casts, and the organization summoned him.
His eyes scanned the room. It was painted in white, and all the furniture was wooden giving him a vibe of court trial. The door closed behind him.
When he looked up at faces, he saw he stood in the middle of a curved table, facing old bald men, with only two old women who had heads full of hair.
They all wore square-rimmed glasses. This was Killian's worst nightmare. All their eyes were on him.
"Name?" An old man asked, looking into his laptop.
All the rest did the same, burying their heads inside their screen. Their ears perked up when Killian cleared his throat.
"Killian Dominic."
One raised a brow. "When you are asked these things, you should say—
"You never specified," A lady said from the back. Killian spotted her seated behind the round tables, having a table of her own.
