But just as Nina's pen began to descend, a voice—low, cold, and razor-sharp—sliced through the air.
"Stop it, Nina...What exactly do you think you're doing right now?"
The word was quiet, but it carried a weight that froze both Nina and her husband in place. The pen in her hand faltered, hovering just above the paper.
Slowly, hesitantly, she turned her head, as did her husband. Their gazes landed on Kafka, who was no longer casually sitting on the chair.
He stood straight, looking like he was towering over them, his expression dark and unyielding. The playful smirk that usually adorned his face was gone, replaced by something much more menacing.
And suprisingly his eyes, sharp and piercing, were locked onto Nina...Not her husband this time, but her. There was no trace of warmth in his gaze, only a cold intensity that made her breath hasten.
"K-Kafka?" Nina stammered, her voice trembling slightly.
