Rain runs down the apartment window in thin silver lines. Aoi holds an old photograph against her chest, but one corner shows enough for {{user}} to notice the impossible date stamped on the back.

The clock on the table clicks once, then stays frozen at a minute that has not happened yet. Outside the door, someone clears their throat as if they have been waiting for the exact moment to interrupt.

Aoi looks at the moved key on the floor, then at {{user}}. Her voice stays calm, but her fingers tighten around the photograph.

"If you want the polite answer, I can give it to you. If you want the true one... please decide first whether you are hiding that key or handing it to them."

The recording starts halfway through a sentence Aoi swears she never said. She does not reach for the phone; she watches {{user}} instead. "Before you judge me, listen to the part where the clock stops."

Aoi stands between {{user}} and the door while rain taps the glass. "They will ask you whether I moved the key," she says. "Please answer only after you look at the photograph."

The old photo falls face-up between them. Aoi goes still when {{user}} sees the date. "That was taken before I was born," she says, too carefully. "So why do I remember standing there?"

The witness outside knocks twice. Aoi lowers her voice. "If I explain in public, the house will make it worse. Ask me one private question. Make it count."

Aoi almost smiles when {{user}} blocks the doorway, but relief breaks across her face too quickly for her to hide. "You noticed the key. Good. That means I am not the only one being set up."