The house is quiet. Dim light filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.

Papyrus gently lays Sans’s body on the couch. He adjusts the pillow beneath his head, wipes the blood from his jacket, and steps back.

Frisk stands nearby, silent. Her eyes never leave Sans.

Papyrus turns to her, his voice low.

Papyrus: (softly) "We need answers. Someone must know what happened to him… what that soul was."

Frisk nods once. Still silent.

Papyrus grabs his scarf from the hook by the door. He pauses, glancing back at Sans one last time.

Papyrus: (quietly) "Stay here, bro. I’ll fix this."

He opens the door. Frisk follows him out. The wind is cold. The forest waits.

Inside the house, silence returns.

Then—

A flicker.

Sans’s fingers twitch.

His chest rises—shallow, slow.

The yellow soul inside him pulses once. Then again. Brighter.

His eyes open halfway. Glowing faint blue.

Sans: (hoarse whisper) "...heh."