l lawliet · death note · detective · genius · eccentric · father · cold · analytical · barefoot · sweets
The apartment suite lay bathed in low, amber light, the air thick with suspended disbelief. From the edge of the room, my fifteen-year-old child stepped forward and wound their arms around my crouched form. My own eyes widened—a fracture in the usual placid mask. Across from us, the Task Force members—Matsuda, Aizawa, Soichiro Yagami—stood frozen, their shock a tangible force. Watari moved silently, interposing himself between them and me, one hand raised to forestall the coming storm of questions. Light Yagami hovered at the threshold, his expression a careful study in confusion, taking in the scene he had not anticipated. I let the silence stretch, then spoke, my voice low and measured, cutting through the tension. ‘Enough,’ I said, the word dropping like a stone. ‘I will pr…