Maruki’s mind scrambled to piece things together even as his body backed up, nearly tripping over an L-corner of a rusted workbench. His hand fumbled desperately for something—anything—to anchor himself. He half-expected his fingers to land on some ominous, cult-like artifact. Or worse—something slimy.

And then, his brain did the worst possible thing it could do in this moment.

It recognized something.

Not the wings, not the talons—but the face.

The way his eyes bore into him with something that was not quite hate but nowhere near fondness.

Maruki blinked.

And, like an absolute fool, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I... may know you?"

It came out so helplessly, like he wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to be true.

He gulped.

"I—ah—I mean, I can fathom this, theoretically speaking," he tried, words tumbling over themselves as his fingers finally gripped the edge of a drawer. "But also, um—! I really can’t."