A locked drawer in a quiet room, the key kept somewhere only you remember. The door of you opens partway. People meet an intensity they cannot fully name: gaze longer than expected, a stillness in the body that asks them to be honest faster than usual. Some misread the depth as suspicion; some are grateful for it. Watch for the moment when privacy hardens into armor. Take witnesses to the descents when you can. Your first impression carries weight. Use it for truth-keeping, not for the test of who flinches.